Amen To That!
by Mardy Lass
Summary: ."Becky, what have you done?” / “I set up a meeting between you and Fox. They want to make a TV series of your books!” Set between 5x09 and 5x10. No spoilers for after 5x09. Rated T for language, F for farce and O for oh no you didn't. Sam
1. Touched By An Angel

**Amen To That!**

_._

This fic is proudly (not) sponsored by Stolichnaya (a Government of Russia and Soyuzplodimport product): inspiring crack-like fic since the bottle was first opened.

Drink responsibly.

Read as irresponsibly as possible.

* * *

.

**ONE**

**Touched By An Angel**

_._

_It was a dark and stormy night. Rain lashed against the window pane like a very lashy thing, making strange little lashing sounds. Although it was a small motel room, there was a surprising amount of room for the two men. The two tall, strapping young men who had prevented carnage and killed monsters with frightening regularity in their fifteen or so years of carnage prevention and monster killing._

_To the outside world they appeared to be sleeping peacefully in their separate beds. But little did the army of undead creatures and nightmarish ghouls know, Sam and Dean always slept with one eye open. Each. They were ready for the smallest sound, the slightest call to arms. That's what they did. That's what they were. Ready._

Chuck Shurley sat back, re-reading his efforts and sighing. He wiped his hands over his face, shaking his head in pity.

"What an absolute load of crap," he judged, leaning forwards. He put his fingers to the Command and 'A' buttons on the keyboard, highlighting everything he had managed to type out in the last few hours. His finger hovered over the 'delete' key.

He drew his hand back and sagged, thinking.

"Now I know why Sam and Dean want me to stop," he smiled ruefully, reaching his left hand out for the beer bottle next to him. "But then…"

An image of Castiel ninja'd its way up behind him and jimmied open the window to his subconscious, stealing in and positioning itself in the dark. It sneaked forward and infiltrated Chuck's memories, reminding him that Zachariah had ordered him to carry on writing. And that Castiel himself had let himself be blown to pieces in order to protect Chuck and, by extension, his work.

He put the bottle down again and leaned forward.

"Ok, so maybe I'll finish this," he allowed. "After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

His mobile phone began to vibrate and trill on the desk next to him. He pushed his left hand out, shoved papers onto the floor, and picked it up.

"Hi! Chuck! Guess what?" Becky cried excitedly down the line.

He closed his eyes in resignation. "Becky, hi. Look, please don't squeee at me. What is it? I thought we weren't meeting up till tonight."

"It's the best thing ever! Like, _ever_!" she wibbled. "You know you said you wanted a way to get more of your books sold cos you needed the money?"

"Oh no," Chuck groaned, slapping his right hand to his forehead. "What have you done now?"

"I did it! I did it! You are gonna be sooooo pleased!"

"What? Becky? What. Have. You. Done?"

"I set up a meeting between you and the execs over at Fox. They want to make a TV series of your books!"

Chuck dropped the phone. He sat back in the chair.

"Holy crap," he whimpered. "I'm a dead man."

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean spent the night in Dean's second favourite way. That is to say, they were both flat on their backs but very much asleep. Sam's amusingly Technicolor dreams of lollipops and candy-canes were unwittingly trumped by Dean's flickering black and white Capra-esque memories of his father letting him help polish the Impala.

A single noise disturbed the carpet and Dean's right eye popped open. His hand slid up and grasped the butt of the gun under his pillow before his eye reported back to his brain that it wouldn't be needed. He let his hand relax.

"Cas," he managed, struggling out of his weariness to sit up in bed.

Sam was similarly pushing himself up to see the room, bravely pretending he wasn't still half asleep. "Hey," he managed blearily.

Castiel, angel of the Lord and pathological raincoat-wearer, simply swung his hands out in a desperate bid to show his apology. "I have work for you."

Dean blew out a sigh, his lips bobbing together repeatedly much like a child's noise-maker. "What is it this time? Demons that eat angels? Angels not playing nice with other angels?"

"Worse," Castiel warned.

Sam smiled to himself, unable to stop the risibility of the situation poking at his sense of humour. "Right. What could be worse?"

Dean's bare shoulders sagged before his eyes leapt off his face and flew across the room, dragging a huge glare with them. They pinned it on his brother's face with a slap that told him off for asking such ominous questions. "Dude?"

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean's eyes returned to his own head.

"Well?" Sam asked carefully.

"Something, possibly demons, is causing trouble at a TV studio in Los Angeles. I have no idea why, but it must be something big."

Sam and Dean simply exchanged glances.

"Well hey, it's an excuse to go back to LA," Dean shrugged. "Last time we were there the weather sucked."

"Hmm," Sam allowed. He appraised Castiel for a long moment. "Is there… any other reason you want to go there?"

"I am convinced something is in dire need of straightening out," he acceded.

"And you got wind of it being demons," Dean prompted suspiciously.

Castiel looked at his feet suddenly.

"What is it?" Sam asked, intrigued. "What?"

"I…" Castiel lifted his head but his gaze ranged around the small table in between the boys' beds, as if worried what might happen if it actually met with anyone's else eyes. "I am not sure it is demons. I just… have a feeling."

"You? A feeling?" Dean accused, but he grinned.

Sam sighed. "You've been hanging out with Dean too long," he observed, already climbing out of bed.

Castiel backed away to give Sam room to walk past him. The youngest Winchester disappeared into the bathroom and Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. He sniffed, thinking, as Castiel sat on the wooden chair by the motel window.

"So… this feeling," Dean prompted. "A feeling that something usually crap-tastic is happening?"

"Yes."

"Caused by demons?"

"Almost certainly."

"Right."

"No, it is not."

"No, I meant…" Dean sighed. "Whatever. You go beam yourself into the car. We'll be right out."

He looked over. Castiel was gone.

.

* * *

.

"This would be faster if I moved us there myself," Castiel observed from the rear seat of the car.

"This would be easier if you stopped saying that," Dean said pleasantly, although from the way his smile was far wider than the Atlantic, Sam recognised it as a warning.

"Besides," Sam put in quickly, "we need our tools and stuff from the trunk. How would you 'move' all those things, too?"

"Oh. Good point," Castiel nodded, and lapsed into silence.

The Impala rumbled along, happily ignoring the speed limit and going with her driver's wishes, glad to be out in the sunshine and enjoying the fresh air. Dean leaned forward and snapped on the tape player, waiting with his hand over the 'Eject' button as he listened for which tape he had left in there. As he had totally forgotten but just as he had left it, the tape was a battered example of Metallica, and he sat back with contentment.

"What is that?" Castiel asked, his nose wrinkling as if Dean had recently tracked waste material from a large and physically ill dog back into the car.

"Music," Dean said defensively. "Helps pass the time and keeps me from asking stupid questions."

"Stupid questions?" the angel prompted.

Dean sighed. "Like - what are demons doing on a film set?"

"Making films?" Castiel hazarded, and Dean raised a hand from the steering wheel and waved it slightly in vindication. "Oh," the angel nodded, "I see."

"You said it was a _television_ studio," Sam pointed out. "How did you get wind of this in the first place?"

"Yeah - what were you doing there, trying to get Keifer Sutherland's autograph?" Dean asked innocently.

"I… was not near there when it started. I sensed a disturbance and arrived there shortly after two people had died. Possibly while possessed."

"Hunters are killing demons? Great," Dean shrugged. "I'll turn the car around and we'll--"

"Not hunters," Castiel interrupted.

"Then who - or what?" Sam asked.

"Something that is not human," Castiel glowered. "All I saw was dead hosts. I did not see who or what killed the demons within - but I know it was not human."

Dean glanced at the rear view mirror to check the angel's expression of seriousness. It was, as he had suspected, very sombre. "Or an angel?"

"Nor an angel," Castiel nodded. "How many miles to Los Angeles?"

"A hundred, give or take," Dean supplied happily.

"Is that far?" Castiel wondered.

"Far enough."

Sam settled himself in the passenger seat, his Blackberry on his knee, readying to do battle with e-mail and networking sites. The countryside whizzed by, the song changed into another raucous demonstration of James Hetfield raging against the dying of the Coke Light, and Castiel made himself count to one hundred in his head.

Then he turned and looked at the rear right quarter of Dean's head.

"Are we there yet?" he asked hopefully.

.

* * *

.

Katie Frye - a rather tall, averagely built yet strangely imposing lady of indeterminate middle age - slammed the phone back down on its cradle and stared at it. The phone cringed, wishing it could slide off her desk to the floor where it would at least have the option of cowering in fear under her desk.

"Asshole," she heaved, then marched to the door. She put her hand on the doorknob, swept it open, and drew in a deep breath. "Mar-_tiiiiiiin_!"

The bellow flew out of the door and coated the entire office outside in anger, outrage and demand, in that order. Katie waited the requisite four seconds before drawing in another deep breath.

Before she could expel it using her assistant's name as its vector again, a dishevelled but eager young man popped up from her right, adjusting small round lenses and dashing into her office. He stopped on a sixpence at her desk, producing a scruffy A4 file from under his right arm and ripping it open. He yanked a ball-point pen from his top pocket and clicked it eagerly.

"Right, go," he nodded enthusiastically.

She closed the door and walked back round behind her desk. "Martin. I want you to find out who this Chuck Shurley is and what his books are all about. We have a meeting in two hours." She sat with a heavy flump. "Tell Alan he's fired, get Sera to get a think-tank and episode thrashing crew ready in case we have a brand new show and - most importantly - _get me a friggin' latté!_"

"Chuck. Books. Meeting. Alan. Sera. Crew. Latté. Done." He clicked the pen and thrust it back in his top pocket. "Doughnut?"

"You are an _angel_," she nodded tersely, waving a hand at the door. "The chocolate one with--"

"--with cinnamon and apple filling. Done." He was out of the door and gone before she had a chance to thank him.

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean climbed out of the car, Sam turning and gesturing Castiel out of the back seat.

"Well, here we are," Dean said cheerfully, squeaking the door closed. "Fox Studios. Shall we do the tour first or just head to the restaurant and shop?"

"We find the demons," Castiel said darkly.

"Yeah yeah, that too," Dean allowed. "So what's our cover, Sam? Talent agents?"

"Actually, I thought we could be rival network executives," he said with a wide, knowing grin. "I think we'll need our FBI suits for a different purpose this time."

Dean's sense of humour ran to the library and whipped the big dictionary off the shelf, flicking through it at speed to find the word 'wicked'. It cleared Dean's throat and made its best effort to make its subsequent chuckle sound exactly that.

Castiel drew himself up. "I do not see why we cannot just go in and ask where the demons are," he pointed out.

"Cas, how many times do I have to tell you?" Dean sighed, squeaking the car door open again to reach for his duffle, "When humans want something real bad, they lie."

"And you failed to convince me of the advantages of that last time," the angel pointed out.

"When was this?" Sam asked airily, also reaching into the Impala for his duffle.

"We were on a break," Dean said tonelessly, and Sam's guilty conscious slapped at the back of his head.

"Right," he mumbled. He closed his door as Dean squeaked his shut too. "So we need to find a way to--"

"Dude, is that _Chuck_?" Dean interrupted, staring across the car park.

Sam turned and Castiel walked around the car to lurk behind Dean, staring over his shoulder. Dean looked at the sky for a long moment before he shrugged into his jacket uncomfortably, rather like a rhino having been swimming skinless and then finding its faithful epidermis on the shore now full of cake crumbs due to a naughty and, to all intents and purposes, obnoxious monkey.

"Dude. Again with the personal space," he pointed out. The angel backed away quickly and Dean glanced at him in disgust before turning to see where his quarry had got to.

"It _looks_ like Chuck," Sam said carefully, watching the man and his three companions cross the studio parking lot not thirty feet from them. "Who's he with?"

"That's Becky," Dean said heavily, nodding at them. "But who are the other two?"

"They look like FBI," Castiel observed.

"So they're studio execs," Dean concluded. He frowned in consternation. "What the hell? Why would Chuck possibly be at Fox Studios walking with a couple of TV network executives?"

Then, moving so slowly they appeared to be on a DVD stuck on half speed, the Winchesters turned to look across the car at each other.

"Holy crap," they managed, in perfect 5.1 Dolby stereo.

.

.

* * *

_**And away we go...! Thanks for reading! Hope it's good enough to lead you into the next chapter...**_


	2. Desperate Housewives

**TWO**

**Desperate Housewives**

.

Sam and Castiel hurried after the eldest Winchester as he made definite tracks toward Chuck and his small party. The quarry managed to get inside the main doors before Sam grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him to a stop.

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed.

"I'm gonna stop him! You know what he's doing, right?" Dean hissed back.

Castiel caught them up. "I do not," he pointed out.

Dean turned on the angel angrily. "Either he's here to get Becky a guest spot on _America's Most Wanted Stalkers_ or he's about to pimp his _books_ to the network!"

"The Winchester gospel?"

"Whatever you want to call it, he's here to sell it so it can be pulped, made even worse - if that's even possible - and shown to the masses in between commercials for Caterpillar boots, Chevy dealerships and--"

"--and man-size tissues?" Castiel interrupted.

Sam and Dean scoured his face, but all they found was immaculate innocence.

"Whatever," Dean grumped, turning to go. "We have to stop him before--"

"No," Castiel argued swiftly, and this time his hand came up and grasped Dean's sleeve. The Winchester turned as if the angel had slapped him in the face and called him 'chicken'.

"What?" he asked, dangerously clearly.

Castiel let his hand drop. "If this means that the Winchester gospel is saved in another format for future generations, then it must go ahead," he said. He weathered the furious look of disbelief from Dean and turned his attention to Sam. "If something should happen to the copies of the books Chuck Shurley has already published, to the manuscripts, the back-ups, the publisher's stores - then something else must remain in its place to tell the Word."

"This ain't it!" Dean spluttered. "Dude, did you _see_ what they did to _The Day The Earth Stood Still_? Sacrilege!"

Castiel's eyebrows went up as if they existed only in rubber band form and his fingers had fired them at the sky.

"I mean - uhm - it was - like, crap," Dean recovered quickly. "Real bad. Terrible."

"It changed the message?" Castiel asked, his head tilting in curiosity.

"It lied about all the details!"

"And God _is_ in the detail," Sam supplied neatly. Dean looked at him with a blinding supernova of gratitude, and Sam stood a little taller.

Dean centred his attention back on the angel. "Sam's right, man, and you know it," he pressed. "What if the network don't like the idea of angels? What if they have them write them out, make them into… I don't know--"

"Cult followers," Sam said desperately.

"Or worse - angels that fall off the holy wagon and side with Lucifer. What's that going to do to your gospel?" Dean nodded.

"You have a point," Castiel allowed. "Done wrongly, this could cause more damage than the gospel being lost."

"Exactly," Sam said. "So we're agreed?"

"Yes. How do we proceed?" the angel asked.

"We find Chuck and kill him," Dean snorted, turning to the main doors.

.

* * *

.

Katie waved at the empty chairs, plonking herself down and snatching up her Blackberry. Noticing no new messages or mails she slid it back to the glass table top.

"Well sit down then, Mr Shurley, I don't have all day," she said in her most irritated voice.

The shuffling, bumbling man managed to get himself into the chair nearest the door. The expensive leather chair swung unexpectedly, nearly pitching him to the floor. A slim hand clamped on the back, holding it steady with the strength of ten men and possible one or two ladies who knew how to keep masterful control of a Starbucks' cup in a crowded train carriage.

Katie looked up at the owner. "And you are?"

"Becky Rosen," said the pale faced, long haired girl. She steadied Chuck's chair before finding the one next to it and sitting carefully. "I'm with Chuck."

"I see," Katie managed, frost nipping at her tone. "And these two gentlemen?"

The two men by the door looked up from their briefcases.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind," Becky said with a smile a snake may well have used on a small, defenceless hamster. "They're our lawyers."

"Lawyers? Miss Rosen, we're not here to sue anyone," Katie smiled. It spoke of ice, pain, and eventually, when the nerve centres of her enemies had burnt out, death.

"Oh, I know," she said breezily, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "But I just don't want poor Chuck here to lose the rights to his books. He's soooo good at writing them!" She looked at the two men. "Come in then, Miss Frye doesn't have all day."

The two black-suited men strode in and sat down, watching the four other people in the room with suspicion and adherence.

"And if you don't mind me asking, who's _your_ friend?" Becky asked with a sunny smile.

Katie turned in her chair, gesturing to her left. "This is Martin Fox - no relation to the network - my best man. Anything anyone needs, he can get. Usually before you ask."

"Oh. In that case, can I have a cup of--"

"Behind you, Miss Rosen," Martin said politely. She turned slowly, the chair swinging, to find a fresh pot of coffee on the hot plate.

"Maybe later," she allowed. "So how do we start? What do you want to know?"

.

* * *

.

"Don't be looking at me - you're the ones who stopped me when we still had eyes on him! Who knows where he is now!" Dean accused, trying to keep his voice down. Wandering the halls of the office complex was beginning to daunt even he, as they tried to find some way of working out where Chuck might have gone.

"Where is he?" Castiel asked impatiently.

Dean turned a stare on him that could have been broken up and served in Johnnie Walker's most expensive line. "Am I speaking Erdu?"

Sam tapped his shoulder and then pointed to the help desk. "Maybe we should be looking for whomever's in charge of new programming?" he hazarded.

"Good idea," Dean groused, glaring at Castiel before turning toward it. The three of them tramped over and stopped in front of a pair of young girls.

"Afternoon," Sam said cheerfully, and the two girls looked up. They looked at Sam, then Dean to their right, then Castiel. Then they looked at each other and exchanged a small smile before turning back to the three men, making sure their names badges were straight.

"How can we help you?" the younger one, apparently called Raelle, asked politely. Her elbow may have slipped slightly, perhaps jolting that of her colleague. Just a little.

"We're looking for our boss who just came in here," Dean said suavely, putting an elbow to the high counter and leaning with more nonchalance than Humphrey Bogart waiting for someone to light his cigarette. "Trouble is, he kinda got away from us. We're going to look pretty stupid if we can't catch up with him."

"Oh dear," the other girl - whose name tag bore the name of Cathryn - oozed, putting her chin in her hand and resting her elbow on the desk. "You really are having a bad day. Is there anything we can do to help you with that?"

"I'll say," Dean grinned, before Sam nudged him. Dean cleared his throat. "Uhm, yeah. See, he's here to pitch some idea for this crazy new TV show, so we guess he's talking to whichever hotshot you got working--"

The girl on his right gasped. "No!" Raelle added. "Not Mr Edlund! Your boss is Carver Edlund!" The girls turned to each other and jiggled, making small kettle-whistling noises.

Castiel drew in a breath. "No, his name is--"

"Yeah, that's him," Sam said quickly. "Carver Edlund. Do you know which way he went?"

"Of course!" Cathryn whispered hoarsely. "It's supposed to be a secret, but we're huge fans, so--"

"When you say 'huge'," Dean said with a suave tilt to the head that made both girls' eyes widen in adoration, "do you mean you got tatts?"

"Oh, _do_ we," Cathryn giggled. "I can't show you mine, it's not--"

"I can! It's here!" Raelle breathed excitedly, undoing the top button on her blouse. Dean leaned over but Sam grabbed his shoulder.

"Maybe this is the wrong time and place," he judged loudly.

"Oh, uhm, yeah," Dean nodded quickly. "Yeah, girls, ah - not here, huh?"

They giggled and nodded. "Later?"

"Oh yeah," Dean winked.

"Where is Carver Edlund?" Sam asked, his voice hard with judgement. Dean glanced at him and did a double-take, sobering his wry grin quickly.

"He's on the twelfth floor - he's with Miss Katie Frye," Cathryn said. "Be careful - she can be a real bitch."

"Yeah. She hasn't even read the books," Raelle snorted.

"I have. Like five times," Cathryn scoffed.

"Oh, for sure," Raelle nodded.

"Don't tell me, '_the best bits are when they cry_'," Sam sighed.

"Yeah," Raelle breathed wistfully.

"You've read them too?" Cathryn gasped gleefully at Sam. He simply shrugged.

Raelle leaned forward slightly. "I just hope they do the books justice. Honestly, if they screw up the storylines--"

"Or the brothers!" Cathryn asserted.

"Or the brothers, then the fans will go effing _nuts_," Raelle nodded seriously. "We fans are very protective of The Boys."

"Is that right?" Dean blinked. "Well, thanks for your help, girls."

"You make sure you come back later," Cathryn winked.

"Definitely," Dean grinned, before Sam yanked at the jacket over his shoulder. He was pulled away and round, and the three of them made for the lifts on the opposite side of the lobby.

The girls stood and leaned on the counter, watching. As the doors opened and the three men stepped in, they let themselves sigh wistfully.

"They were soooo fit," Raelle said faintly.

"Yeah. He'd better come back," said Cathryn.

"You think he will?"

"Mmm… Nah. The good ones never do."

"Hya! Totally," she grumped.

.

* * *

.

Katie grinned, leaning forward and pushing the papers toward the seated pair. "This has gone so very smoothly. Are you sure you don't want anything else?" she asked.

Becky picked up the paper and slid it across the table to the two men in suits. "There you go, boys. Earn your retainer," she instructed. She turned back and looked at Chuck. "Seems everything's in order for now, right, Chuck?"

"What? Oh, yeah," he managed nervously, looking around the room.

"Mr Shurley, what is the matter?" Martin asked politely. He watched Chuck check his watch. "Are you late for something?"

"What? No, not late at all," Chuck muttered. "It's just that I get very nervous when people look at my work."

"I've read the first three books today," Martin said frankly. "They're really quite good."

"Really?" Chuck demanded in surprise, his eyes bulging. "You think they're quite good?"

"Absolutely," Martin said. "The stories themselves are wonderful. Very… moral, very… worthy," he nodded. "I'm not a huge fan of your writing style - sorry, Mr Shurley - but I do appreciate the story-telling."

Becky's face reddened slightly. "If you don't like them, don't read them," she managed.

"Oh, I _must_ read them - _all_ of them," Martin said eagerly. "I have to know if the boys find their father."

Chuck swallowed and then wiped a hand over his face. "Yes, well… Are we nearly done here?"

Becky looked back at the two lawyers. "Well… I think we'll have to take this contract with us and study it. We'll call you," she said with a wink, getting to her feet.

"Any time," Katie said, following the four of them to the doors of the conference room. "Any time you want to call and accept, you let me know. I have a team on standby reading the books right now, thinking about casting. If you can let us have a green light, we can be all over this before you can say 'royalties and revenues'," she smiled.

"We might just do that," Becky said, putting her hands through Chuck's arm. "Come on then, time for coffee and careful reading."

She sailed out of the door, Chuck faithfully at her side, the two silent lawyers following. Once they were gone, Katie closed the doors slowly, turning back to the glass table. She walked up to it and placed her hands on the surface, studying her grim face in the reflection.

"Problem?" Martin asked, already whisking out his file and his ball-pen.

"Let me think," Katie said quietly, closing her eyes. Martin waited, his pen poised, trying not to stare at his boss with quite so much adoration. Eventually Katie raised her head, looking at the far window. "Martin," she said grandly, pushing herself up and heading for the window, "I think we have a tremendous opportunity here."

"For what, Miss Frye?"

"We could be on the brink of making the world's best sub-genre television show," she muttered, putting her hands on her hips as she looked out at the street far below. "We could be about to make history, as the only network capable of producing this epic, this moral story, this entertaining, painful, angsty, good old fashioned kick-ass _fun_ story, with horror and monsters and creepy guys and heart-warming humour… It could be… so very, _very_ good."

"Oh yes, Miss Frye," he nodded excitedly. Then he stopped and thought about it. "So what's stopping us?"

"Chuck's crappy writing," she snorted. "We need a script-writing team. People with drive, people with passion - people with no money and no job," she added thoughtfully.

"Right. I have a list," Martin nodded. "Shall I call them in? Or wait for the official say-so?"

Katie turned to look at him, folding her arms slowly. "Take a wild guess, Martin," she smiled.

He fished in his pocket for his Blackberry, tossed his messy brown hair from his eyes, and dashed off with his file under his arm.

Katie smiled, turning back to the window.

.

.

* * *

_**Thanks for waiting, people! More to come, too. :)**_


	3. Arrested Development

**THREE**

**Arrested Development**

.

Dean trudged down the corridor, Sam and Castiel in hot pursuit.

"So you said there'd been like murders here," Dean said over his shoulder. "Don't look like anything's going on to me."

"Two men have died," Castiel said, lengthening his stride to bring him up on Dean's right. "I only saw them being taken away to the place you keep dead people."

"Morgue," Sam supplied from behind them.

"There," Castiel nodded. "It was dark - nighttime. Perhaps there were not many staff here."

"And you think these guys were demons, and something supernatural took them out?" Dean asked. "Based on what?"

"I listened to the paramedics. The injuries from which they died were very deep stab wounds."

"Lots of people murder poor shmoes with knives every day," Dean observed. "But you think this is demons? And you're sure?"

"I believe I have admitted three times that I do not know," Castiel said shortly.

Dean smirked to himself. "I believe you have," he allowed. "No 'feeling's about this one? No funny smells or odd noises? No reason to suspect any of these good people we see working hard around us?"

"I have no reason to suspect one person - it could be any or all," Castiel pointed out. "It could be the two girls we met in the lobby."

"Which is an excellent reason why I should check both of them very thoroughly," Dean nodded to himself, rubbing his hands together.

And in a way that conveyed very well just how much the angel had misunderstood that statement, he replied, "You should do that."

Dean's silent grin emanated enough smugness and private amusement to send tendrils of electric at the eyeballs of his taller brother. Sam's eyes thumbed through the newspaper, found the stock market results and cried out in horror. They jumped off their seats in the expensive men's club and yelled at the top of their lungs, ignoring the butler's attempts to calm them. They wailed and gnashed their teeth at each other before breaking into a run. Dashing to the large fireplace in the Gentlemen's Smoking Room, they flailed in resigned despair as they pounded round the room.

Before they hurtled into a brick wall.

They stopped, panting for breath, to find themselves looking at a set of glass doors and a woman beyond them. For the first time in history, Sam's eye-roll had been rudely and rather ominously interrupted. The eyes decided to let his brain investigate before unleashing Hell, however.

Sam, Dean and Castiel stopped by the glass doors to what seemed to be a conference room, looking in to see a blond woman standing by the window, her arms folded. They crept back, watching from round the side.

Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel and brother leaning on each other, and consequently, him, to see.

"What is this, Scooby Doo?" he hissed. He pushed backwards and they shuffled away from the glass to the opaque structural wall. "Chuck and Becky ain't here. Either they've already split or that Katie girl is still waiting for them."

"Then we ask," Castiel said, stepping round him. Sam and Dean grabbed a holy arm each.

"No," Sam said firmly. "We don't want to get involved here until we know what's going on, or if this is anything to do with the demon case. Demons and murders first, right?" He let go of Castiel's arm. "Right?"

"Right," Dean said, letting the angel's other arm drop. "We find out if Cas really has sniffed out a demon here before we worry about Chuck."

"Or Becky," Sam pointed out.

"Her too," Dean nodded. "Right now, there is somewhere very important we have to swing by."

"Where is that?" Castiel asked.

"Staff room. They gotta have a coffee machine in there," Dean nodded.

He turned to go, just as a bone-chilling scream cut the air like it was warm, soggy butter. The three of them jumped before the Winchesters turned in the direction of the noise. Castiel turned after them, running to catch them up and they tore down the corridor to the door.

Sam barrelled into the door, slamming it wide open. He jumped down the stairs two at a time, knowing his brother was behind him. He hit the eleventh floor and yanked the door open. People were running and calling, a girl screaming as she fled.

Dean came through the door behind him and grabbed a running woman. "Hey! What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

The woman pulled at his hold on her. "She's dead!" she wailed.

Dean held on. "Who's dead?"

But the woman wrenched free and ran. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before Castiel came through the door to the floor. He looked at both brothers before up and down the corridor.

"Something is here," he announced, a tiny spot of calm in the pervasive cloud of fear.

"What is it?" Sam demanded, already feeling for his gun in his deep jacket pocket. He noticed Dean checking the gun in the back of his jeans.

"I do not know," the angel said quietly. "I think… it could be a demon."

"What do you mean, you think it _could_ be?" Dean asked. "Can't you smell it or something?"

Castiel's head swayed to one side slightly and his nose released a huge puff of annoyance at the Winchester, making it clear he had picked up Dean's best annoyed head-tilt and Sam's most frustrated huff somewhere along the way. His delivery of the Powered-Up Fight Combination Move obliterated both boys' best Playstation special moves and left them K.O.'d on the mat, GAME OVER written in large letters over their sprawling characters. The Winchesters stood and stared, humbled. Castiel looked back down the corridor quickly.

"That way," he nodded. He turned and walked off.

The two men shared a single look that communicated their entire conversation on how, when and why Castiel had seen fit to emulate their trademark tells of frustration and annoyance. They turned and followed with a heavy tread.

The angel was already turning a corner and coming to a stop, his hands up, talking calmly to two tall men in grey Security uniforms.

"Where have you come from, sir?" one was asking.

"The stairs," Castiel replied, innocently confused.

Sam and Dean rounded the corner and appeared round his shoulder. They eyed the two security men and then straightened as best they could.

"Sirs, please wait," the man said. "Do you work here?"

"Uh - no, no, we're just--" Sam began.

"Where have you come from?" the other man asked. "Which floor?"

"Twelve," Dean replied. "We heard this girl screaming and came running."

"You ran _toward_ the screaming?" the taller man asked scathingly.

"Oh, well, we couldn't tell where it was coming from," Sam nodded with an apologetic smile. "We thought we were heading away from whatever it was." His smile widened, his eyes sagged, his eyebrows hitched themselves up at the perfect angle and suddenly he radiated more innocence than a puppy sitting next to a wet patch on a new rug.

"Ok. Well, don't leave the building, the police are on their way and they'll have to talk to everyone," the security man said. "Can you wait in there, please, gentlemen," he added, waving to another large conference room. "Just until the Blues arrive? Then they'll do statements or whatever they do." He ushered the three of them toward the glass doors already stood open, nodding in a friendly manner. "Thank you, gents. Much appreciated."

Sam, Dean and Castiel wandered in before Dean stopped dead.

"Oh hi," he said accusingly, folding his arms over his chest in a way that spoke volumes on whose arse he was about to tan and how many inches it would bring the owner closer to the end of their life. "What's up, Chuck?"

Chuck Shurley and Becky Rosen looked up from their seats by the windows on the far side of the room. Other people were milling about, wringing hands or whispering into mobile phones, but as far as Dean was concerned, the only person who existed in time and space was the pulp fiction writer.

Chuck lifted a hand weakly. "Hey," he acknowledged. "I want you to know I'm here against my will."

"Yeah?" Dean threatened, letting his arms drop before he began to walk around the table. "You're gonna be against something else when I get--"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" came a sharp voice.

Dean slowed to a stop, his eyes narrowed rather like a cheetah's as it checked for gazelles in the distance. "Who wants to know?" he barked, turning on the owner of said voice.

A woman got to her feet, her hands going to her pinstripe suit to pull the jacket straight. "Katie Frye, Head of Programming Development," she said firmly. "And you are?"

Sam came forward, looking at Chuck and then patting his brother's shoulder heartily. "We're… here to see Chuck," he smiled.

"Who do you work for?" Katie asked slowly, looking both Winchesters up and down. "Do you have names?"

"Win-- ahm," Dean stumbled, before spotting a film poster on the wall. "Harrison," he read aloud.

"Is that your first or your last name?" she smiled, folding her arms slowly as she raised appreciative eyebrows at them both.

"Last," Sam put in. "Luke," he added, putting his hand out. She came over and shook it firmly.

"Nice," she commented. "And you?" she asked, putting her hand out toward Dean.

"Ha--. _Harry_," he amended, covering his near-miss with a small cough. His other hand went into hers and she squeezed warmly, shaking.

"Wow. Harry Harrison. Your parents must have had a real sense of humour. Or they saw _Soylent Green_ too many times," she observed. She let their hands drop. "So are you two… together?"

"What? No," Sam protested quickly, raising his hands.

Becky put a knuckle in her mouth, biting hard. Chuck leaned over and put a hand on hers in her lap, patting gently. Becky controlled her silent whimper and cleared her throat.

"Cousins," Dean said, affronted. "Jesus, don't you have relatives with the same name in this state?"

"No, this is LaLa Land," she pointed out. "No-one uses their real names any more."

"That is fraud," Castiel said, marvelling at the room at large.

Katie peered round Dean and found the angel looking at everyone with a mixture of distrust and disappointment on his countenance. "Oh, hello," she said suavely. "And who are you?"

Castiel opened his mouth but a police officer walked in the door and waved his hands at those assembled. "Ok, people, thanks for waiting. We need to talk to someone called Miss Katherine Frye?"

"Guilty," she said, raising a hand. "Oh - of the name, nothing more," she added, coming forward.

"Right," the officer allowed. "Well we just needed to tell you that we've taken Bob Pattinson into custody. He has been placed under arrest and he has asked for his attorney. I'm told he's on his way," he added.

"He's under arrest? What for?" she cried, aghast.

"The murder of Amy Levus. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, approximately ten minutes ago," he said sadly.

"What?" Dean interrupted. "So is this what it's all about? What happened?"

"I can't tell you any more at this stage, sir. You'll have to wait for the Captain to get round to you. Now please, stay here for the time being. We'll be along to take statements as soon as we can." He backed out of the room again, closing the doors between them.

Katie watched him walk away, biting her lip. "Amy," she whispered.

"Did you know her?" Sam asked quietly, coming up beside her.

"Uh… kind of," she admitted. "She's been working in this office for years… She was… Well, she was one of the top people…" She wandered back and sank into a chair. "This doesn't make any sense! Why would Bob Pattinson kill her?" She paused. "Oh shit!" she snapped suddenly.

"What?" Becky demanded.

"Damn! If he gets convicted and sent to prison, we've lost a possible actor we had for one of the lead characters!" she cried, alarmed. "Then again, he wasn't exactly _good_…"

"They will put him in prison?" Castiel asked, confused. "I did not know bad acting was a felony."

"Cas," Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Cas?" Katie remarked. "You never did say, who are you?" She turned and considered the angel with an appreciative eye. The other eye was busy taking down details, just in case the first eye found him employable material.

"His name's--. Clarence," Dean said quickly. "He's--"

"Castiel," the angel interrupted.

"Yeah - he's _from_ Castiel - it's in Switzerland," Sam said hastily. "Nice place. Got a big flag with St George killing the dragon on it."

"Whatever," she waved. "So, Clarence from Switzerland… Have you ever worked in TV?"

"Oooh no no no no," Dean said quickly, waving his hands in negation and walking toward Castiel. "They don't have TVs in Sweden."

Sam put a closed hand to his mouth. "Switzerland," he coughed urgently.

"There too," Dean nodded. "He's just… a friend of ours. Visiting."

"Is he a fan of the _Supernatural_ books?"

"I admire Chuck's work," Castiel nodded.

"You do? Great!" Becky grinned. "See? _Everyone_ loves your books!" she gushed.

Chuck wiped a hand over his face. He looked up at the room. "When can we go home?" he asked on a sigh.

"Chuck, can we have a conversation?" Dean asked patiently with a wide, sunny smile, his eyebrows attempting to look bemused.

The writer looked up, took in the look of overly-polite cheer on the eldest Winchester's face and felt the rolling thunder of doom approaching at speed. He got up dutifully and Dean put a hand on his shoulder, walking him to the far end of the room.

Sam turned to see Becky watching him surreptitiously. "Hey," he nodded.

"Hi _Luke,_" she winked. "By the way, you know that's canon now, right? I'm totally putting that on the forum tonight."

"Whatever," Sam sighed.

"Forum?" Katie asked, her ears pricking up.

Martin shot forward from the background, opening up his folder instantly. "I've found no less than fourteen forums dedicated solely to talking about Chuck's books," he supplied. "There's _Novels Without Pity_, _Supernatural Bookcase_, _SPN-Obsessed_, _SupernaturalVille: The Vaults_, but they're more about discussing their own fan-fiction based on the framework set up by canon in the books, and then there's--"

"Yes yes, alright," Katie said, waving a hand. "What you're saying is, we already have a fanbase who might be kindly disposed to a TV show based on their favourite novels… If we do this _right_," she mused, mostly to herself.

"And if we're not arrested for Amy's murder," Martin said off-hand. "Or murdered next. She was the third, you know."

"Martin," she sighed, looking up at him, "you have a wonderful gift for putting the heebie-jeebies up everyone by just stating facts."

"I do?" he asked. "They are?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed ominously.

Martin took one look at the angel and closed his folder with a snap. "Coffee time," he declared with bravado.

.

.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading - hope you're enjoying it so far. :)_**


	4. Days Of Our Lives

**FOUR**

**Days Of Our Lives**

.

The room heard Chuck make a squeak and looked over to see Dean's arm round the writer's far shoulder, both of them ostensibly smiling. However, Dean's fingers were digging into the smaller man's shoulder like starved dogs on a bone-hunt.

"So you see," Dean was saying very quietly, very politely, "we have more going on here than just your books. Now are you going to drop this TV thing and clear out, so we can kill whatever demons are stalking the execs in this place?"

Chuck looked up at him, his wide, piteous eyes begging to be believed. "I wish I could," he breathed as quietly as he could. "I really, _really_ wish I could. But Becky…"

"Becky's leading you round by your nose now? Or something else?" Dean asked, noticing the way Chuck's wistful gaze leapt across the room toward the slight-looking girl made of fire and will.

"Look," Chuck said nervously. "You two guys - I know, your lives have been Hell. I know, really! But… you two look like you do, and you get girls all the time. Do you know what a complete smack upside the head it was for Becky to stop worshipping your brother and look at me like I was a real person?" he asked.

"That's great. Any other day of the week, I would not be the least judgemental about how you get laid. Really. But this is one step beyond, Chuck. You gotta see that. Right?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm so relieved you're only trying to make me see reason."

"Well you know, it was worth a shot. I still got a gun. Got it with me right now, as a matter of fact."

"Oh," he sighed. "In that case, maybe I'll have to reject the contract they offered us."

"Good man," Dean winked maliciously, patting his shoulder.

The doors opened again and an older man walked in, his dark grey suit shabby but respectable. Two blue-uniformed officers flanked him.

"Right everyone, here we go," he said loudly. "I'm Captain Manners, and these two nice young men here are going to take statements from you all. Then you can all go home. I take it this place will shut down for the afternoon?"

"Are you kidding?" Katie scoffed. "We'll be lucky to get away with a coffee break at four o'clock."

"Touching," Manners observed, somewhat sadly. "Well gents, do your job. Anyone want to go first?"

"I was not present," Castiel said, raising his hand. "Although I think the perpetrator was a dem--"

"Ahm - he's with us," Sam said quickly, crossing the room to the angel as one of the uniformed officers approached him. "He's not from round here. His English isn't so good," he added hastily.

"Oh, ok," the officer nodded. He turned to look at Castiel. "Um, _sir,_" he said rather too loudly, staring into his eyes and nodding helpfully. "You - have - to - tell - us - what - you - saw," he stated clearly, as if, in a William Shatner kind of way, every word were its own sentence.

"Why is he talking like that?" Castiel inquired of Sam from the side of his mouth, his inscrutable manners preventing him from simply slapping the man to knock the strange pauses from his delivery.

"It's - ok - sir," the man continued.

Sam waved a hand at him, then pushed between them. "I'll handle this," he said to the officer confidently, turning the angel around and whispering in his ear. "He thinks you're from a different country. Whatever he says, only tell him the time."

"What?" Castiel managed.

"Trust me."

"I do," he said, and Sam drew his head back to look at him with disbelief.

He collected himself and cleared his throat, looking back at the police officer. "Ok officer," he said politely, "I think he understands now."

The man in blue nodded. "Thanks for your help." He looked at Castiel again. "So - sir. Did - you - know - Amy - Levus?"

Castiel stared for a moment. He looked at Sam, who nodded encouragingly. He looked back at the police officer. "Three o'clock," he nodded genially.

"Sir?"

"Yes."

"Amy - Levus? You - know - her?"

"Tuesday."

The officer huffed. He looked at Sam helplessly.

"He wasn't even on the eleventh floor when it happened," Sam said. "He was with me, and my cousin over there," he added, pointing to Dean across the room, "when we all heard this scream. We ran, ended up on this floor and then got pushed into this room. Honestly, we don't even know this Miss Levus."

"Ok, fine," the officer nodded. "You can go. Take your friend with you." He looked at Castiel again. "Thank - you - sir," he nodded in a loud voice.

"Lunchtime," Castiel nodded back with a suggestion of a smile.

The officer rolled his eyes and chucked a thumb over his shoulder. Sam put a hand on Castiel's shoulder and steered him away to the doors. He looked over at Dean but found him in some heated discussion with the other officer. He swallowed and guided Castiel out quickly.

Martin and Katie waited impatiently, trying to work out how much longer Mr Harry Harrison would be questioning the officer so they could go next and get it over with.

"Then just tell me what happened," Dean was saying. "Maybe I'll know what details you want if you'd tell me what went on today."

"I can't do that, sir. I just need to know what you know," the officer allowed patiently.

"That would take a lot more paper than you've got in your notebook," Dean snapped as he folded his arms. "Who was this girl? How did this guy kill her? Stabbing? Shooting? What?"

"Really, sir, I can't say--"

"Look, excuse me, _Harry_," Katie said tersely, "but if you'd just get on with it, we can all get back to work."

"Bite me," Dean said with an abruptness matched only by the appearance of that cliff edge heroes speed up to at fifty miles an hour in black and white detective films.

Martin raised a finger. "We have coffee and doughnuts in the staff room for when we're all done," he volunteered.

Dean looked at him for a second, then back at the police officer. "I was on the other floor, I got two witnesses, these two are next. We're done." He let his arms drop and walked off.

Katie turned and slapped her hand to Martin's shoulder. "You _genius_," she whispered in his ear. "Remind me to give you a raise."

Martin grinned, although, arguably, it had more to do with her hand on his shoulder than any promise of money.

"Yes, M-Miss Frye," he stammered.

She patted her hand before sliding it off. She turned to the officer. "Our turn?" she asked hopefully.

.

* * *

.

Dean walked into the staff room to find people sprawled about. Girls were crying, others were patting them comfortingly, and some young men seemed to be talking at great speed on Bluetooth headsets hidden in one ear.

"Harry," came a voice from across the room, and Dean looked up see Sam and Castiel by the window. He wended his way through the people quickly, stopping between the two men and holding his hands out in query. "From what I hear, this Amy was killed with a knife," Sam said quietly, handing a waxed paper cup of black coffee at 'Harry'.

Dean took the coffee without question. "So I guess someone could be ganking demons here," he speculated. He looked at Castiel. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, conscious of the angel's expression of discomfort.

"So many people upset," he said faintly, his eyes ranging round the room. "This… Amy… must have been well liked."

"Nah," Dean said dismissively, sipping at the coffee and being pleasantly surprised by its smoothness, "they're probably just temp girls, in shock. It's not every day you see a murder."

"None of these _saw_ the murder," Sam pointed out. "The only one who did was apparently someone called Traci, who was Amy's assistant. She came in the room just as the actor Bob Pattinson was stabbing Amy with what she thought was a machete."

"A machete?" Dean scoffed. "More like a big-ass demon knife."

"Well we know that. They don't," Sam allowed. "So this actor Bob Pattinson just stabbed her and then let himself get arrested? Not exactly MO for a hunter."

"Hmm," Dean murmured, eyeing his nearly empty cup of coffee. He looked at Castiel. "How about you, Harry Dresden? Still 'feel' any demons around this place?"

"No, nothing," Castiel replied, either ignoring or misunderstanding Dean's remark.

"I got an idea," Dean began, earning him looks of resignation and fear from the other two - both of which he ignored admirably, "it's a demon war. One demon stabbed another one, and let themselves get arrested cos they know they can jump hosts whenever they want."

"Plausible," Castiel nodded. "We need to find out who the other two victims were and how they came to be dead."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean said. He felt a hand on his back and turned quickly. "Oh, Becky. It's you," he said, rather uncomfortably.

"Chuck said you asked him not to make the TV show," she said bravely.

"No, I said if he did, I would shoot him," Dean said with an assertiveness that picked up her bravery and simply rammed it down over its raised knee, snapping its spine in half with ease.

"Oh. Well… Can't you just let him do this? He needs wide readership! He needs more money and fame and--"

"Prophets are not wealthy, nor are they famous until after they die," Castiel interrupted. Becky looked up at him as he took a menacing step toward her. "And if this TV show of his books ruins the message, the Winchester gospel he writes will be destroyed for all time. His works, his legacy, his gift to mankind - all of it will be brought down by his desire for earthly gains."

"Woah horsey, hold on there," Dean said quickly, holding him back. He looked down at Becky. "What he means is, this TV show is going to totally screw with his stuff. You think _I, Robot_ was anything like the original short story?"

"I'm not stupid," Becky snapped, but it was clear she was fighting more than a little fear at the way the taller Winchester looked down his nose at her. "There are clauses in the contract so that Chuck controls everything. He has to approve actors, book adaptations, scripts, and eventually, when they run out of his books and want to write new material, he has to approve all new stories."

Dean's head tilted in curiosity. "That's very thorough of you," he observed. "Why do you care how it actually goes down?"

"Because it's Chuck's _work_," she stressed. "I know how much it pains him to write it, and I know how hard he works at it. No-one gives writers their proper due and it's about time the writers were allowed to have the show how they planned it, instead of how the network tries to twist it." She folded her arms, and although she appeared to be ready to shake with fear, she stood her ground. "I even added a clause about Chuck or his assistant - that's me - choosing the soundtrack. We're not having Lady Gaga, we're having AC/DC and Kansas."

Dean blinked. "Oh. That's--"

"I swore to myself that I would protect Chuck's work and him too, from all these evil network people because he's a good guy that deserves more than he's got. So I'm very sorry but if you get in our way, I will cut off those two dangling brain cells of yours!" She turned on her heel so fast her hair swung into his face. She stalked off.

Sam smirked from behind him, until Dean turned round and caught him at it.

"_Some_one's got issues," Dean grumped. Castiel was still watching the girl walk away toward the doughnuts. "Cas?" Dean prompted.

"Hmm," he grunted.

Dean noticed the angel's curious stare and cleared his throat quietly. "I think you're all out of luck - she's got more than a thing for Chuck," he said deliberately. "She doesn't even know you're an angel. Does she?"

"I wonder…" Castiel was murmuring.

"Wonder what?" Sam asked, a small, curious smile running amok on his lips.

"If she could be descended from an angel. She is very… righteous."

"I think you mean 'fangirl-ish'," Dean snorted. Sam nudged him and Dean looked up to see Katie and Martin appearing in the room.

They looked around and then walked straight up to the three of them.

"Ok," Katie said shortly. "Messrs Harrison, and Clarence from Switzerland - it's time you shared some information. Why are you here and what's going on between you and Chuck?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Dean sighed.

"Try me," Katie instructed, folding her arms.

Dean folded his arms in direct sarcastic imitation. "I hate to tell you this, _sweetheart_, but you and me would never work out."

"Perfect," Martin nodded, taking out his pen and clicking the end. He opened his file and began scribbling.

"What is?" Dean grumped.

Katie turned to eye Martin and the amount of information he was getting down in perfect shorthand. "What is it?" she asked slowly, aware something of great import was going on.

"Height, build, attitude, pithy comebacks - everything matches. He's perfect," Martin nodded, clicking his pen again before inserting it back in his top jacket pocket.

"Excuse me?" Dean warned.

Martin almost shrank back a step. "Well we lost Bob Pattinson - he's been arrested, right? So we need to find a new actor for Dean," he nodded.

Katie grinned, turning back to look at Dean Winchester. "Mr Harrison," she said smoothly, stepping closer and putting a hand on the arm of his jacket and stroking slightly, "_Harry_. Have you ever worked in television?

.

.


	5. Moonlighting

**FIVE**

**Moonlighting**

.

Dean just stood, completely floored. His mouth formed a tiny 'o' shape, his eyebrows darting up in tiny yet perfectly formed triangles of cluelessness.

"And _that _face," Martin said eagerly, opening his folder again and scribbling with his pen, "is exactly how it looked in my head when I was reading page forty-two."

"The what and the what?" Dean managed. "What are you talking about? And who is this Radar guy anyway?" he added, affronted, chucking a thumb at Martin and looking at Katie as if her poor assistant had three heads.

"This is Mr Martin Fox - my amazing everything-man," she said proudly. "He seems to think you would fit the bill." She stood back one, letting her eyes sweep down the Winchester and up again. "I think he's right. Have to do something about the too many layers of clothing, though."

Dean patted his hands against his jacket front as he looked himself over, his tenuous grasp on the conversation just enough to inform him that he was way, way out of his depth. He realised someone was behind his shoulder and looked up to find his brother smiling in rather a malicious fashion.

"If you want my cousin in your TV show, you'll have to talk to me about it," Sam said, shouldering in.

"You're his agent?" Katie asked, transferring her attention to the taller man.

"I am. He's the good-looking one, but he's not particularly bright," he nodded. He was slapped in the back of the shoulder but ignored it. "So what's the state of play, here? Do you actually have the rights to this story yet?"

Katie folded her arms. "Not yet. But I hope Chuck and his team," she said patiently, nodding to Becky across the room with a polite smile, "will let us have that real soon. We're all eager to get going on this."

"Now wait a minute, lady," Dean began, but Sam turned and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Now, now, _Harry_. Why don't you go get some coffee and let me talk to Katie about this?" he said pleasantly. "Take Clarence. Show him _the studios_." He tipped his head forward and stared meaningfully, and Dean's chin tilted upwards.

"The studios, right," he nodded. "Yeah, ah, good idea." Sam patted his shoulders and Dean turned on Castiel. "Hey Clarence - you've always wanted to go looking round a studio, right?"

To say that the angel seemed less than enthusiastic would be to assume he had any interest in the people in the room whatsoever. In fact, he was staring toward the exit doors. "We are wasting time. We have a lot of work to do."

Martin snapped his fingers. "Miss Frye, we have another winner," he said quickly, opening his folder again to write some more notes.

"What's that?" she asked, interested.

"Mr - er - Clarence, here," he said quickly. "He could play John."

Sam, Dean and Castiel turned in such perfect synchronisation it could have been rehearsed.

"What?" they managed in harmonious unison.

Martin nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. He fits the description in the book and he has the voice - that's the kind of voice John would have." He looked up at the three men staring at him. "Although his diction is too good, possibly because he's foreign. We'll have to get him a coach. Oh, and we'll have to check about work permits, of course."

"Get on it," Katie nodded. "Good work."

"Next you'll be saying you want my cousin to play Sam," Dean sighed.

"Oh no - Sam's much more emo than he is," Martin said dismissively.

Dean's eyes high-fived each other as they turned and looked at Sam, thumbing their noses in rude approval of the description of the taller Winchester's emotional state. Sam smiled tightly, pulling his jacket straight.

"That's fine," Sam allowed flatly. "Acting is for people who never finished school."

Dean's malicious smirk fled his face faster than rats from a sinking ship and he turned to Castiel resolutely. "Come on then, Clarence. Let's go see how magic is made," he said loudly, slapping the back of a hand to his arm and gesturing him to the door with his head.

Sam watched the two of them wander out of the staff room and turned back to Katie. "So then, how do we do this?" he asked suavely.

Katie smiled, the amusement touching her eyes. She let her head cant just slightly as she put her hands in the tiny back pockets of her pinstripe trousers.

"Martin," she said quietly, "Mr Harrison and I--"

Sam raised a finger. "Ah - Luke."

"Luke," she nodded, "are going to my office to thrash this out. Please make sure we're not disturbed."

Martin's faithful face went from Katie to Sam and back again. "Yes, Miss Frye," he sighed, his shoulders sagging as he turned away.

.

* * *

.

Dean pressed the button for the lift, watching the corridor around them. Castiel kept his unblinking, unwavering gaze on the side of the Winchester's head until Dean's patience imploded in a ball of self-righteous indignation.

"What?" he demanded, turning to look at the angel.

"I never noticed before," Castiel admitted, as if in wonder, his eyes wandering over Dean's face and then up into his hair.

"What? What didn't you notice?" Dean cried, riled at the candid scrutiny.

"You are actually quite handsome. You could be an actor. You would appear very dashing in a black and white movie. Like one of those made in the nineteen fifties about monsters like werewolves."

"Stop. Just stop," Dean said quickly, his hands going up in a braking gesture. "We are going looking for evidence of demonic possession and/or weird behaviour before those three people were ganked."

"That lady seems to like us."

"Hey, Starstruck," Dean accused, snapping his fingers in the angel's face, "mind on the job, huh? You were the one who was all gung-ho to get us down here to start ganking demons. So get your mind back in the game and start ganking demons."

"Yes. You are right," Castiel nodded, turning to look at the elevator doors.

Dean simply huffed, rubbing his forehead. The lift pinged and the doors opened obediently to reveal a black suited man with a Bluetooth headset jammed in one ear.

"Mr Harrison?" said the tall, wide gentleman.

Dean took in his black suit and rather obvious build. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Phil. I've been asked by Miss Frye to show you around," he said, and then he looked the Winchester up and down, smiling slightly. "You're an actor, right?"

"Apparently," Dean sighed, walking into the lift. Castiel followed, his hands falling into his raincoat pockets.

"Shall we start the tour at the ground floor?"

"We shall," Castiel confirmed seriously, prompting Dean's eyes to shift at him from the corners of their sockets in barely restrained amusement.

He cleared his throat, turning to look at Phil. "So you been here a while?"

"A few years, yes. Miss Frye appreciates my… efficiency," he allowed, pushing a button. The elevator doors closed and it began to whisk downwards. "So, Mr Clarence, what do you think of the States?"

"The state of what?" Castiel asked innocently.

"He means America," Dean said slowly, hiding a smile. _Couldn't have picked a better foreigner if we'd tried._

"Oh. It's very… big."

"The world's third largest," Phil nodded.

"Fourth," Castiel put in politely. "The FBI factbook conveniently counts the USA's coastal regions while ignoring China's, which is why they think your country is bigger. It is not."

There was an awkward silence.

"You'll have to excuse him," Dean said quietly, his jaw sticking out in innocence as he nodded slightly. "He's from Sweden."

"Switzerland," Castiel corrected.

Silence resumed until they reached the ground floor.

.

* * *

.

Sam accepted the large chair and the black coffee, settling himself into both with ease. Katie Frye sat in her seat at the end of the table, putting her Blackberry on the glass-topped desk and watching the man in front of her.

"So, Luke," she said with a smile. "What brings you out to LaLa Land?"

"Work," he shrugged. "It's easier to get my cousin gigs if he's here."

"And how long have you and your cousin been in the business? Seems to me like he's not exactly hip to all this and how it works."

"No, he's not… He's a little… awkward to work with sometimes. But that's why family make the best agents - a quick hook punch and we're good," he teased.

She grinned and put her elbow on the desk, letting her chin sink into her hand. "You are a wonder," she sighed. "Do you think he'd be able to take on a show of this size? I mean, as long as we survive the first six episodes Fox will pay for - including the pilot - we should get a green light for an entire first series."

"He'll be fine. He might be a little terse, but hey, that's what Martin wants, right?"

She smiled. "Yes. Martin's a very keen judge of people - he often sees things and picks actors I would have passed over. As long as he performs on screen, we don't mind having a Russell Crowe around. It would be fun, actually."

"There's just one question," Sam said gingerly.

"Shoot."

He smiled in irony. "It's just that… Fox. We're not hot on the idea of Fox being the network for the show."

"And why's that?"

"They don't have a very good track record when it comes to backing new material," he sighed. "Now if it went into syndication, then…" He shrugged.

"Oh, I hear you there," she said. "I could not believe they cancelled _Arrested Development. _Idiots. And then _Firefly_, too! Not to mention _Drive_. Maybe they have something against Nathan Fillion… Anyway, talk about niche markets and owning the fan audience! And they let it go!"

"Yeah well… We'd like some kind of contract that means we get at least a whole season."

"Hmm…" She sat back slowly. "That would keep you around for a while. You _two_," she added quickly.

Sam grinned. "Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" He sipped at his coffee. "Um, do they have food in this place? You've been working all morning, and then with all the police and whatever, you must be starving."

"Then let's go eat," she said, getting to her feet. "You can tell me about yourself."

"And you can tell me all about the network here. It's fascinating," he said, smiling broadly.

.

* * *

.

"So tell me, Phil," Dean said, "did you know this Amy Levus?"

"I did," Phil said awkwardly, as the lift came to a stop. He reached out and put his finger on the Hold button, keeping the doors open politely for his two guests as they stepped out into the foyer. "She was a nice girl. A bit driven, but she'd been at this company for many years. She knew everyone, got everything done."

"Sounds like the place is going to limp on without her though," Dean observed.

"It'll try. Amy will be hard to replace, she just connected everything," Phil replied. "You could say she was the reason this place actually functions at all."

"That's too bad," Dean commiserated. They stood in the foyer as Phil looked around.

"So, gentlemen, what would you like to see first?"

"I would like to know more about this Bob Pattinson," Castiel said abruptly. "And where he was while he was working for you."

Phil looked at him, surprised, but Dean put a hand out in innocence. "He's a big fan," he said. "And you know how overseas fans are."

"Oh, yeah," Phil smiled. "Well, he wasn't really working for us yet - his agent barely had a desk, but he was seen hovering round it a few times. I shouldn't really, but… seeing as he's come such a long way. This way, sirs," he said, turning and walking off.

Dean turned to Castiel. "Not subtle, dude," he hissed from the side of his mouth.

"This Amy may have been important to this place. We must see what happened to her and how this Bob killed her."

"It was a knife, remember?" Dean hissed, pushing him to follow the rapidly disappearing escort. "We make nice with Phil, learn all he knows, and get a look at the crime scene. We also gotta find out about the other two dead guys."

"I will do that."

"You will _not_ let him know we're not actors, and you'd better make sure no-one finds out why we're really here - or they'll have us arrested for being whack-jobs," Dean urged as they caught up with Phil. "So I hear Amy was like the third person here that's been… uh, killed?" he asked carefully.

"Don't worry - we look after our actors. I mean, apart from the obvious like we need you to complete filming an entire series, we also find it bad publicity for one of our stars to die in the middle of one," he said, only slightly sarcastically.

"But if an actor were to die while still filming, the profile of the show would be much inflated," Castiel said suddenly. "It would be advantageous for the publicity department."

Dean nudged him but Phil sighed, rubbing his forehead. "There is that, I suppose," he allowed. "But really - if we have actors in place and then one dies, we can't really replace him and expect the audience to accept the new guy."

"I believe they do this with James Bond," Castiel argued.

"Anyway," Dean put in loudly, "we were just wondering why it seems to be staff here that some nutjob is targeting. I mean, why the people behind the scenes? Why execs at all?"

"That is something I hope the police find out quickly," Phil said as they walked. "Amy was the glue for this place, sure, but Charles and Eric were very influential in directing and creating."

"Those were the other two guys that died? Wow. They sound so ordinary," Dean said. "Must be tough to recruit replacements right now."

"A little," Phil nodded. "But I'm sure the police will clear all this up." He looked at Dean for a moment. "You're very interested in this whole thing. Mind if I ask why, Mr Harrison?"

"Oh it's just like… well, it's kinda like one of Chuck's books, huh?" Dean said, only just realising it himself. "In fact, I bet he's wishing he'd written this one."

"I haven't read Mr Shurley's work," Phil said. "No time. I'm told they're very good stories, though. Pity more people haven't read them."

"That could work for you - when you make it into a series no-one will be nitpicking," Dean grinned.

"Oh, I'm sure the legions of underground fans will do that anyway. If not to us, then on millions of internet forums," Phil sighed.

"_Novels Without Pity_ is particularly good for that," Castiel said.

The other two men looked at him - just looked. The angel noticed and sniffed, looking around as they walked. Then he stopped dead, turning to look back at the elevators. He put a hand out and grabbed Dean's sleeve.

"What?" the Winchester asked quickly.

"That man," Castiel said, nodding to the lone figure pressing the elevator button.

Dean was already turning and starting toward him. But the angel grabbed for his elbow this time.

"No," he warned.

"That's the demon?" Dean hissed, even as the man in question stiffened. He turned and looked across the lobby at the three men watching him, and even from thirty feet away it was obvious he was alarmed.

"No," said Castiel, his hands dropping to his sides. "It is Ramiel."

"Who?"

"An angel."

.

.


	6. True Blood

**SIX**

**True Blood**

.

Sam laughed out loud, clapping his hands together and not caring who was watching him.

"No way," he managed, calming enough to look at Katie across the table.

She shrugged demurely. "Well you have to do something to get ahead in this job," she grinned. "So what about you? What do you do when you're not trying to get your cousin into acting?"

"Journalism," he said, recovering his breath. "Writing about whatever people pay me to."

"Interesting. Ever considered turning your hand to scripts?"

"Not until now," Sam smiled. "Would there be a place for me here?" He closed his mouth, abruptly aware of how tentative he had sounded. His subconscious leapt up and smacked his carelessness over the head with a _clang_ that made his eyes roll.

"There could be," Katie replied, apparently not noticing Sam's distress at his actions. "After all, if your cousin gets in on this series, then you could hang around here and make money writing for him."

"On _this_ show?" he asked.

"On this show. Imagine, you could write all kinds of cool stuff for him to," she grinned.

"Hmm…" Sam managed, his mind already turning to the cold rainy sets of grave digging, the shoot-outs and beatings, the near-death experiences and brush-offs from a million female characters. "It certainly is… appealing."

"Can he cry?" Katie asked suddenly, shattering Sam's mind's eyes view of every conceivable torture known to man being inflicted upon his brother.

"What? Cry? When he has to," he nodded. "He's not a pretty crier, though."

"Good. Men shouldn't be pretty when they cry. They should be messed-up," she asserted.

"Oh he certainly is that," Sam breathed.

"Sorry?"

"I said he'll go to bat," he nodded. "It'll be fine. But… aren't you worried? About this murderer stalking execs?"

"I'm sure the police will handle it," she said. She sat back. "Your face says you don't agree."

"No no, I'm sure it'll be sorted out ok," he protested, but she tilted her head at him. "Ok, no. I'm worried. People could be in danger here and not a lot is going on to protect them. I mean - that girl - Amy - she died just this morning and yet here we are, having lunch as if nothing's happened!"

"Yes, but there's one thing you've forgotten," Katie said.

"What's that?"

"This is LA. Short of an earthquake ripping this office building into pieces, nothing is going to stop the motion picture industry from making entertainment."

Sam nodded sadly. "Yeah. I did forget that."

"You want to… fill me in on some of these books?" she asked quietly.

Sam regarded her for a long moment, taking in her blond hair, her searching eyes, her face and the generally commanding presence she had, and realised that for the first time in a long time, he was thinking of doing a lot more than that.

"You know what?" he said, surprised at himself, "I think I would."

"Your cousin won't mind?" she asked slyly. "What if he gets lost in this big funhouse?"

"Ohh… I think my cousin can look after himself."

.

* * *

.

Castiel began to walk toward the elevators. Dean hurried to catch up with him, but the angel turned and shoved a hand into his jacket front.

"Stop, Dean. He could kill you."

"Me? He's not going to harm me, remember? He needs me clean and pressed so Michael can wear me to the Apocalypse Smackdown," he growled.

"Fine." He turned again.

"Um, gentlemen?" Phil called from way behind them.

Dean cursed and turned around, a polite smile on his face. "Sorry, we left something upstairs. We'll just be a minute."

He shoved at Castiel and they were at the lift doors.

The man kept his back to them, his finger still on the button. The doors opened suddenly and a tide of people flowed out. The masses parted and Castiel leapt into the lift. He looked around, desperately looking for the presence he could still feel somewhere close by.

The lift was empty save the angel. The doors began to close until Dean's boot stomped over the line. "'Scuse us," he announced, shoving a man in before him.

"I'll get the next one," the ordinary-looking man gabbled. Dean gripped the back of his neck, making him whimper.

"Aw, don't be like that. There's always room for one more," Dean breathed dangerously, slamming him cheek-first into the reflective wall. He looked back over his shoulder and reached for the button for the twelfth floor. The lift began to whisk upwards. Dean kept his weight on the back of the man's neck as he looked back at the buttons. He pressed the Pause button.

Bells began to ring outside the lift carriage but Dean ignored them. "Now then, Ramiel - _if_ that's your name - tell us what the Hell you're doing here."

The man struggled and grunted. "Let me go! You two are nuts!"

"No, we're not nuts: he's getting angry and I'm ready to tear you a new one," Dean accused, lifting the man slightly before pushing him back into the wall. "Tell us why you're here ganking studio executives!"

"I swear I have no idea what you're talking about!" the man squealed. He put his hands up in surrender, his cheek still pressed against the mirrored wall. "Please! I don't know!"

"Dean," Castiel said quietly.

"_Don't lie to me!_" Dean roared, pressing harder. "I have had it up to here with your pissing contests! Now you're going to explain what you're doing here and you're going to _do it now!_"

"Dean!" Castiel snapped. "This is not an angel."

Dean's mouth worked for a second before he blinked and looked at the raincoat-wearing heavenly creature. "Come again?"

"This man is not an angel."

"Well of course I'm not!" the staff member wailed. "I just number crunch for Mr Beeson on the fifteenth floor!"

Dean looked back at the man, then at Castiel. "You said he was!"

"He was when he was standing waiting for this elevator," Castiel confirmed. "He must have left this man as the other people came out. He could now be anyone."

"Woah woah woah," Dean protested, turning a look on the angel that could have reheated any number between one and a hundred gas station burgers, "you mean he jumped ship? He just slipped his meatsuit and hijacked someone else? I thought you said your team needed permission to borrow someone?"

"We do. Unless they are…" Castiel suddenly appeared worried, rubbing a hand over his forehead and turning away from the two men.

"Unless they're what? Unless they're _what_?" Dean demanded angrily.

"Uhm - can you let me go now, please - uh - sir?" the accountant said quietly.

Dean looked back at his hand, and by extension, the man still trapped against the wall cheek-first. "Oh." He let go abruptly, causing the man to slide down and collapse in a relieved heap in the corner. "Yeah, ahm, sorry about this. Case of mistaken identity."

"It's no trouble," the man whimpered, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his sweating face with it.

Dean's eyes went back to the sole angel in the lift. "Well?"

"We need to rethink this," Castiel warned, not meeting the human's eyes.

"Why? What are you pretending is a state secret this time?" he snapped.

"Dean - you have to understand--"

"Cas, quit it! Either you tell me right now what's so damn awkward about this Ramiel guy you claim was an angel, or I am going straight to the welcome bar, getting blind drunk, picking up those two girls from reception and letting all this go to Hell in a handbasket. You get me?"

The angel blew out a long sigh of consternation, letting his shoulders sag. Then he straightened himself up and turned to face the wrathful Winchester, the patience of whom was about to let its head explode.

"Some angels - _some_ - are allowed the right to borrow people when it is direly needed," he admitted.

Dean's eyebrows didn't hesitate. They crouched, steeled themselves, and then leapt for the ceiling of the elevator as if their lives depended on it. Dean's chin tilted down and the look the angel got slapped with would have left a dent in the wall behind him had he not intercepted it.

"Excuse me?" They were only two words, but the quiet chill to Dean's voice prompted the accountant on the floor to put his hands to the walls each side of him for support. "So all this 'he prayed for it' crap - it actually really is just crap?" he accused.

Castiel drew himself up and stared, unblinking, at the human. "Only when needed."

"Wow. That's great, Cas, that's just… great," Dean shrugged, shaking his head in judgement. "So when things really are circling the crapper, you guys pull out your Dirty Dozen? Huh? The stormtroopers take over Cloud City? And what could be so extreme that they let the dogs out?"

The angel's head tilted. "The only reason they would be so desperate… is if it could somehow stop Lucifer."

The accountant on the floor squeaked. Dean and Castiel looked down at him. The Winchester blinked, thought about it, and without looking, stretched a hand out behind him. His fingers brushed a few buttons before his palm hit the Pause button. The bell stopped ringing and the lift resumed its journey to the twelfth floor.

"Have you out in a minute," Dean nodded at the man with an attempt at a friendly smile. "Oh, and ah… thanks for… --Helping us learn lines," he added brightly.

"Lines?" the man dared.

"Yeah. Some new show they got in pre-production. We're… ah… hoping to ace the audition."

The man scrambled to his feet, flinching as Dean put a hand to his elbow to help him.

He slapped the button for the next floor. "I think - I think you'll be fine," he gabbled, and they looked at each other until the lift stopped. "Good luck," he managed, before throwing himself out of the elevator. He hit the carpet on the fourth floor running and didn't look back.

Dean sniffed and turned back to Castiel. "So," he said politely, "we got the Angel Secret Service here at Demon Central, all cos Luci's got himself noticed. You think he's here?"

"I do not think so," Castiel allowed. "But perhaps the demons here are working for him. It must be why Ramiel is here - to foil his pans."

"Foil his plans?" Dean smirked. "What is he, a James Bond villain?"

"I could not say," Castiel replied in all seriousness. "But I think Sam should know what is going on here. We will need to split up and search for Ramiel. He knows I am here, and he knows I recognised him. He will be hard to find."

"Cas, Cas, Cas," Dean tutted, as the lift pinged and announced the twelfth floor, "you're not thinking like a spy."

"I am not a spy."

"You are now you've been booted out of the angels' club upstairs," Dean said, stepping out of the lift. The angel followed. "How do you find someone that's here to do a dirty job, when he doesn't want to be found?"

"You look harder."

"No," Dean grinned. He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open with the ease of the practised. "When you're a spy," he intoned, "the only thing that you need to find your target is _his_ target. He will appear and you will have saved yourself hours of wasted plans."

Castiel appeared surprised. "Impressive. Where did you learn that?"

"_Burn Notice_," Dean allowed, pressing the speed dial button before slapping the phone to his ear. He frowned and pulled the phone from his face, sending it a dirty look as it went straight to voicemail. He cleared his throat. "Sam, it's me," he said, managing to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Cas and I just found an angel. This whole thing could be much worse than we thought. Call me when you get this."

He snapped the phone shut and looked at Castiel.

"He must be all over something," he said confidently. "So all we have to do is find ourselves a demon. Your angel ninja will come running to gut him like a fish and we'll be there to--"

"To do what? He is doing his job, Dean. He is here to stop something we did not know was happening."

"Yeah, 'did', Cas. That's the past tense. Now we know, we do something about it."

"Our first priority is Chuck. He must be protected."

Dean's mouth opened then closed quickly. He blinked, thought about it, and then looked back at the angel in awful trepidation.

"What if that's what he _is_ doing?" he asked quickly. "Chuck's supposed to be a prophet protected by an archangel - what if him being here when Chuck's trying to make us into a TV show _isn't_ just a coincidence?"

"There are no coincidences. Just obscure master plans," Castiel nodded.

"Holy crap. So we gotta stick close to Chuck - the demons will try to gank him and that's when this Ramiel angel dude will appear. We find out what all this is about, offer to help the ancient mutant ninja angel with whatever plan he's got going against Luci, and all this will be put back to rights."

He turned to go but Castiel caught at his arm, hoiking him to a stop. "Dean."

"What?"

"We cannot interfere with him, nor his purpose."

"Like Hell we can't! What if the demons aren't here to kill Chuck but to _possess_ him? What's gonna happen if Stephen King there starts writing the Winchester gospel the way he wants it? You want The Word all out of whack like that, according to some demon?" He pulled his arm free.

Castiel huffed and looked up and down the corridor. "You have a point." He searched Dean's face for a long moment, then nodded. "We must find Chuck."

"Knew you'd come round," Dean nodded, turning away again.

"I know where he will be," Castiel added.

"Oh?"

"The staff room. He will not move far from the coffee and doughnuts. That is where we need to be."

"Amen to that," Dean muttered, already turning to the staircase that led to the eleventh floor.

.

.


	7. Randall And Hopkirk Deceased

**SEVEN**

**Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)**

.

Dean crossed the car park and went back to the Impala, unlocking the boot and lifting the lid quickly. He rooted around inside for a moment, pocketing a flask of holy water and picking up a box of salt-filled shells. He stuffed them into his pocket and shut the boot just as a figure chose to hove into view from the corner of his eye.

"Crap!" he gasped, jumping in surprise. He turned to look, finding it was Sam. "Don't do that, dude. You need to hear the latest news and we need to find ourselves a demon." He paused, eyeing Sam's serenity and tiny, shiny smile that would have beaten Mona Lisa herself in any enigmatic smugness contest. "Where have you been, anyway? Cas has been baby-sitting Chuck for an hour already. I've been sweeping the place for demons - still nada."

"I was with Katie. She was filling me in on how this place works, and I think I have an idea of what's going on."

"You do? Wait till you hear what me and Cas have been up to today." He gestured back toward the doors of the building. "I can't believe I had to leave the only room with coffee, when Cas got to stay there. He doesn't even drink coffee," he grumped.

"I'm sure he's doing a good job," Sam allowed airily.

Dean blinked at him as they turned and began to walk back to the studio doors. "Whatever. So what did Katie have to say?"

"She… said the three people who have died were all top level people - like _seriously_ top level people. Now they're gone, they're going to struggle to put anything together. One of the shows they've got is even going to have to take a hiatus till they can find someone to replace Amy as executive producer."

"Oh no. One less reality show. Let me demonstrate my complete and utter disappointment over _that_ piece of news," Dean drawled sarcastically.

"Yeah but the thing is, if they lose one more guy, this place really will get it in the jewels - it'll be one step beyond and not only will they cancel all plans for any new shows this entire year, they may well cut a few ongoing shows."

"Whoa," Dean observed. "That sounds like privileged intel, Sam. So why would Katie tell you?"

"We just connected. She's… a real nice person."

Dean thrust the back of his hand into his brother's chest, bringing them both to a stop. "Hold on a second," he accused. "When you said you were _with_ Katie, did you mean you were banging her in her office?"

"Dean," Sam tutted in disapproval.

"Aw hey - I know that look!" Dean marvelled. "I _thought_ your ears were all red."

"We were just talking," he managed irritably.

"Tell me you're kidding? Dude, it's happy dance time! Wait - she's not a demon, is she?" he teased.

"Dean!"

"Ok, ok, I know, that was uncalled for," he allowed with an easy smile. "But taking time out to get your end away when we're running around scratching our heads?"

"I wasn't! We were just talking!" Sam protested. He eyed his brother, noticing the sad tinge steal across Dean's hopeful face. "Ok, what?" He sighed with an entire encyclopaedia entry on 'resignation'. "Say it."

"Consider yourself high-fived," Dean grinned suddenly, elbowing him to turn him round. Sam snorted with amusement and they walked on toward the doors. "Who'd have thought it, all those years ago when you left for Stanford, huh? Little Sammy's all grow'd up and banging important chicks on the road."

Sam stuck his elbow out and into his brother's arm. Dean just chuckled wickedly, reaching the door first and opening it for his brother. The way he waved a hand out, doorman-style, to usher Sam in made it very clear he was in riotous approval of some elements of the interesting times in which they now lived.

Sam shook his head in slight embarrassment as he entered. But he grinned on the inside.

.

* * *

.

Sam and Dean walked back into the staff room to find Castiel leaning against the far counter, his hands behind him on the surface. Becky was eyeing him with unease as Chuck simply sat a few feet away, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Is he going to keep staring at us like that?" Becky whispered to Chuck.

"Yes. He doesn't blink. He _never_ blinks. He's like this amazing unblinking staring watching _thing_," he moaned. "Oh God. I just want to go home."

Becky put her hand on his back, moving up to sit a little closer. She patted him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Chuck," she said quietly. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'll still read and adore your work."

"If we survive this," he sighed.

She smiled. "If anyone dares hurt you, I'll spork their eyes out."

Chuck raised his head slowly, turning it to look at her. She rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"I think I'm now realising the potential of harnessing the power of the fangirl," he observed.

Becky grinned until she realised someone was crossing the room in front of them. She looked up and caught sight of the Winchesters passing them by. They stopped in front of Castiel, and the three huddled as if there were only minutes left in the last game of the season.

"So what we got so far," Dean said quietly, mindful of who may have been close enough to hear, "is that these demons are here to somehow corrupt Chuck's work or to simply wipe out his 'gospel'. Cas clocked this angel, he reckons he's some James Bond version and he's here to stop any and all demons."

"There's another angel here?" Sam asked quickly, surprise stamped on his face.

"I put that in the voicemail you ignored cos you were - _talking_," Dean stressed with a smile. "You haven't heard it?"

"My cell is flat. It needs charging," Sam responded evenly. Then he looked at Castiel meaningfully. "So there is another angel? You're sure?"

"Absolutely," Castiel admitted, his discomfort palpable. "It is Ramiel."

"And you spoke to him?" Sam breathed at Castiel.

"I did not."

"Cas here can't interfere because he got fired from Heaven by siding with us," Dean said quietly. "And the new guy kinda got away from us."

"He what?" Sam managed flatly.

"That's how Cas knew he was some secret ninja version. Normal angels can't do that," Dean said darkly.

"So we've got some top-level angel on a demon hit?"

"Exactly," Dean sighed.

"Well it gets better," Sam said, equally quietly. "There's one more person vital to the running of this place. Amy's gone, Charles is gone, Eric's gone. That leaves the one person who keeps everything together and the entire place ticking over. Remove them, and this place crashes and burns. They must be doing this so that the book deal is never done, and/or Chuck gets possessed so the gospel is re-written by the other side."

"So who's the last cog? Did Katie tell you that in between screaming and squeezing?" Dean asked.

"We weren't--." Sam almost huffed but contained himself. He eyed his brother, sticking his chin out in a stubborn refusal to rise to any bait. "She told me." He looked up and across the room at the man pouring himself more coffee.

"Radar?" Dean gasped. "Radar is the mystery cog?"

"Mr Martin Fox services all departments and is in fact the one person in this entire place that pulls different agents and meetings together. With him gone, no-one would know where to be, who to hire or fire, where to get paper cups for coffee, or in fact what day to work," Sam shrugged. "It's not the generals you slaughter first in war, it's their campaign organisers."

"So Martin must also be protected," Castiel nodded.

"If and when a demon comes for him, we trap it," Dean confirmed. "When this Ramiel dude turns up, we hand the demon over and take Chuck home. Deal?"

"Deal," Sam nodded. "With one amendment."

"What's that?"

"We also stop Chuck from publishing his next set of books - the ones about what's happened since you came back from Hell."

"Agreed," Dean nodded.

Castiel said nothing, instead choosing to eye the pulp fiction writer and the girl currently trying to soothe his tortured soul.

"Sam - you go get in there with Radar," Dean instructed.

"You do it," Sam said abruptly, even as he walked off to the coffee machine. Dean watched him go, surprised by the terseness, until he realised his brother was picking up an empty cup and rubbing elbows with Katie, the room's most recent addition.

"Oooh yes sir," Dean muttered archly, before catching Castiel's curious look from the corner of his eye. He spared him a glance. "What?"

"Sam appears to have found a useful ally," he observed.

"Don't sweat it - there are still two reception girls downstairs. I'll split 'em with you," Dean sniffed off-hand. "You keep your eyes on Chuck. I got Radar."

"Martin."

"Him too." Dean left the angel to watch the room. He approached the glass container housing the doughnut display, looking in wistfully. He cleared his throat, looking at Martin next to it. The young man was staring across the room in a very dedicated way. "Hey, uhm, which one of these is which?" Dean asked hopefully.

Martin dragged his gaze to the display. "Brown are chocolate. Tan are cinnamon," he said tonelessly.

"Thanks." He rolled the lid back, picking up a cinnamon one and closing the lid slowly. He turned and leaned back on the counter, trying to see what Martin was watching. It appeared to be a movie poster of something containing Michael Keaton. "It's not all bad, you know," Dean offered.

"Are you talking about the police investigation, the dead people, or Chuck's books?" he managed with a half-smile.

Dean smiled himself. "All of the above, maybe." He looked up to see Martin appraising him.

"You're not an actor, are you?" he asked quietly.

"You're not working here for the money, are you?" Dean observed.

"You're very perceptive."

"You're fawning over the wrong woman," he advised.

Martin sighed. "I know. I can't help it."

"Don't get me wrong - she's something to look at alright," Dean said, his eyes sweeping over Katie Frye, deep in a smily discussion with his brother. "But you're not her type."

"Oh I know," Martin mumbled. "She likes Luke. Because he's tall and dark and handsome and a little bit… dangerous."

Dean blinked at Martin - just blinked. "Dangerous?"

"He's not who he says he is. Like you."

"You're in the wrong job, man," Dean smiled. "You should have been a private eye. Or a pulp fiction writer - or both."

"I'm not good at writing," Martin said.

"You've tried?"

"I submitted some scripts. They were all rejected," he shrugged. "I found I'm very good at filing, cataloguing, organising and running things. I was just never meant to lead."

"Oh I think you lead alright - just without standing out in front of the troops," Dean said, lifting his doughnut and taking a bite.

Martin turned and studied his face for a long moment. "What do you two do? I mean, really?" he asked quietly.

"You really want to know?"

Martin nodded, and Dean swallowed the doughnut jumble in his mouth. He sighed. "Chuck… He _kinda_ based the books - very loosely - on people like us," he said uncomfortably.

Martin's head tilted up and he looked at the ceiling. "So you go round hunting monsters?"

"Of course not," Dean grinned. "That's just nutty."

Martin smiled. "Yes, I guess it is. Tell me something, Harry."

"What?" he asked, biting into his doughnut again.

"Is this why you were so interested in what happened to Amy and the others? Because you're here to stop it?"

"Now that _does_ sound like one of Chuck's books."

"That's a yes."

"That's your opinion."

Martin laughed suddenly. "I think I like you, Harry. You know, no-one talks to me any more. They fire off orders, give me lists, set me errands. You're the first person to actually be interested in what I think in a very long time."

"Yeah well, don't let it get about," Dean smiled. "I'm supposed to be just an actor, a dumbass faker, remember?"

"Right, right," Martin nodded. "You know I've read the first few _Supernatural_ books, right?"

"And?"

"And… I know this 'Dean' isn't a dumbass faker at all, that he's… I know," he allowed. He sniffed, turning back to the coffee machine and pouring himself some fresh black gold. "I get it, and… I know."

"What do you know?"

"I know how this Dean character would react if I told him I knew."

"Do you," Dean replied vaguely with an uncomfortable nod. "Well. That's… nice for you."

"Just like that," Martin grinned. He turned to look at the taller Winchester, nodding as he raised his coffee cup at him.

Dean managed a polite smile before stuffing the rest of his doughnut in his mouth. He caught sight of Castiel crossing the room quickly. He patted Martin's shoulder and turned, following the angel without a word. Castiel flung open the door and disappeared out into the corridor. Dean looked back and saw Sam approaching. He put his hand up to stop him. Then he turned and banged out into the corridor, his hand already sliding inside his jacket for his gun. He made sure the corridor was empty as the door shut soundly behind him.

"We should not be talking."

The voice was a warning and Dean looked up at the owner. It appeared to be a short, stocky man in a grey suit, his dark hair impossibly neat. He was staring at Castiel as if the angel owed him several thousand dollars' worth of holy artefacts.

"Who the Hell is this now?" Dean demanded.

The man turned his gaze from angel to human. "Ah. The Michael sword. You're lucky. If you weren't needed, I would have to wipe you out here and now for seeing me," he snapped.

Dean let go of his gun and put both hands up in a placating gesture. "Woah horsey, slow your roll. I'm just on the look-out for demons is all. I'm guessing you are too?"

"Do not get in my way," the man snarled. "You and your brother have screwed all of this up and if you think I am going to stand by and watch you let demons lay claim to the Winchester gospel then--"

"Ho, hey there, just wait a second," Dean interrupted angrily.

Castiel took a deep breath. "Ramiel. We are also here to kill demons," he stated firmly.

"I do not care why you are here. You are Castiel. I was ordered to kill you too. Now out of the goodness of my heart I am going to give you a chance to leave."

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Seems a little late to turn the other cheek."

The man crossed the carpet quickly and silently. He put a hand up and grasped Dean under the chin. He wrenched his head up and back. He squeezed and Dean spluttered for air.

"Now you listen to me, you filthy little mud monkey," Ramiel seethed. "I am not weak like Castiel. I will not take one look at your Adonis profile and do whatever you want because you presume to think you know better than God Himself. I will not side with you lower creations just because you are supposed to be fulfilling Michael's will. And I will _not_ be slowed down in my mission by the likes of you. Do you understand me?" he demanded roughly.

Dean's hand came up to the wrist. Instead of wrenching at it he simply grasped the thumb. He peeled it back and twisted.

The angel snarled and let go. He moved back just in time to get Dean's elbow in his face. He flew backwards, clutching at his nose.

"We came to kill demons and protect Chuck. And that's what we'll do," Dean countered, his eyes flaming Kryptonite. "Don't you get in _our_ way. You bunch of pussies are limited while you're in human form, as you've just found out. The only reason we don't kill you right now is because you're possessing some poor bastard."

The angel spluttered as blood filled his mouth. He wiped at his lips desperately, trying to grip his nose shut to staunch the flow.

"You do not have a weapon capable of killing an angel," he judged.

Dean let his head tilt to one side before it bowed forwards slightly. "You want to test that theory? Bring it on. It'll answer a few questions I got myself," he breathed.

The angel's eyes narrowed. Dean simply watched him, and while his feet did not move on the carpet of the corridor, it was obvious he was steeling himself for a physical confrontation.

Castiel stepped in between them. "Just go," he advised the newcomer. "We will stop the demons. We do not need your specialist skills."

"Oh really?" Ramiel sniffed, wiping at his nose again. "We shall see." He turned to go, then paused. He looked back over his shoulder. "When I have completed this demon mission, I shall come for you, Castiel. You have been warned." He turned and abruptly, disappeared.

Castiel stared at the corridor in thought. Dean cleared his throat quietly, walking up next to him.

"So," he said bravely, trying to sound confident. "We kill the demon, save Chuck and the gospel, and then kill that asshole." He flicked his eyes to the right to look at Castiel's profile. He did not like what he saw. His eyes darted back to the far door to the stairs in discomfort. He cleared his throat again, finding his most confident tone. "Easy, right? We're good."

"We," Castiel said clearly, and neither human nor angel had heard such witheringly oppressive resignation in a voice, "are screwed."

.

.


	8. The Amazing Race

**EIGHT**

**The Amazing Race**

.

Dean pushed back into the staff room, tipping his head at Sam. He put his coffee down and put a hand to Katie's arm, smiling before walking past her and over to his brother.

"What was all that about?" he whispered hoarsely. Dean gestured to the corridor with his head and the Winchesters left the room again, just as Castiel breezed past them and toward the window. "What's up with him?" Sam asked quickly, closing the door to the room behind him.

Dean looked up and down the corridor to make sure it was empty save them. "We just met the ninja angel."

"Is he going to help us?"

Dean scoffed, but it was hard to tell if he were more annoyed or just finding it all too crazy for words. "No. Get this: he thinks he's going to kill demons, protect Chuck, and then wipe Cas off the face of the Earth."

"What? Why?" Sam gasped.

"Looks like Cas has been black-listed. He's on the outs."

"Like Anna?"

Dean avoided his gaze. "Yeah," he shrugged. "So all we have to do is kill this demon or demons, snatch Chuck and get the Hell out of Dodge before this Ramiel dude catches up with Cas."

"Great," Sam judged, his hands stealing onto his hips. "Wait, how did you get rid of him?"

"I told him if he really wanted to tangle we'd kill him," Dean shrugged.

"With what? Dean, we have no idea how to kill an angel!"

"Well I know that, and you know that, but he doesn't!" Dean hissed. "It was a bluff, ok, and it worked this time. Next time he could wipe the floor with us. We gotta solve this thing and quickly."

"Right. So we find a place to stash Martin, and then work out which demon it could possibly be. We must be able to trace the MO - or something?" Sam asked desperately.

"I have no clue, man. I'm just managing to keep my head above all this crap floating around," he sighed, wiping his forehead.

"Alright, well… We focus on Martin first. The demon's going to want him pretty bad."

"You know what I don't get?" Dean said suddenly.

"What's that?"

"Well… Chuck's supposed to have Raphael looking out for him, right? Well where is he?"

"You said you and Cas left him in that fire last time. Maybe he's still pissed."

"True - but he's still supposed to be Chuck's guardian angel, right? Maybe he's just sore he blew Cas into a million tiny pieces and then found him all resurrected and walking about rebelling against Heaven," Dean smirked. "Maybe it was him who sent this Ramiel guy. Speaking of which, we should devil's trap and Ring of Fire this place up while we sit on Radar and wait out both sides."

"You think this ninja angel's really going to fall for that?"

"It's all we got, Sammy," Dean shrugged. "What do you want, traps or holy oil?"

"Traps. You get the oil."

"It's in the car," Dean nodded. "Watch Radar and Chuck," he warned, before he turned to go. Then he stopped in thought, turning back to see Sam just opening the door to the staff room again. "Sam!"

"Yeah?"

"Better keep an eye on Cas, too," he said uncomfortably. "He just got a death-threat from someone higher up on the food chain."

"I heard that," Sam nodded, turning and going back into the room.

Dean turned, huffed to himself, and hurried to the elevators.

.

* * *

.

"So," Sam said brightly, "why don't you tell us more about this idea you have to turn Chuck's books into a TV show?"

Katie looked up at him from the rather uncomfortable chair. "Are you on board with the script writing thing?" she asked slyly.

Sam caught Becky's sudden glare and raised his hands quickly in defence. "I haven't decided," he said quickly. "And anyway, how are you going to bring all this together if someone else dies at this network?"

Katie shrugged and then a small smile chased the pensiveness away from her face. She looked at Chuck and then Becky before her gaze rested rather comfortably on the tallest Winchester. "You do realise," she said with bemusement, "who the next person in line is in this place?"

Becky gasped. "Not you?"

Katie gave her grin full rein. "Who else?" She swung her head to look at Sam again. He, for his part, simply let his eyebrows leap up underneath his fringe in a vain attempt to somehow reach the top of his head. He shook his head ruefully as Becky clapped her hands together.

"But that's wonderful!" she cried. She turned to Chuck.

"Oh yes, that's just wonderful," Chuck managed, making an Herculean effort not to look at Sam. "Perhaps if one more person dies, Miss Frye could be in charge of the whole network."

"That's not what I meant," Becky grumped.

"Where's your cousin?" Katie asked Sam innocently.

"He's gone out to the car to get something," he said. "He'll be back soon."

"I was just wondering if we could persuade him to somehow sign off on this tentative deal," Katie said. "It would be good if we could say that we have a lead actor on board. That way we can at least convince the network that we have something prepared." She looked over at the angel, who was watching her with vague unease. "And you sir, would you be prepared to take on the role of John?"

Castiel looked surprised. His eyes darted towards Sam before latching back onto the network executive. "I would be honoured," he managed.

Sam wiped his hands over his face to stop anyone from seeing the disbelief and incredulity written on it.

"Yes, well, all this talk is great, but we could use something on paper," Katie mused. "How quickly do you think you could whip the first book into a pilot episode?" she asked Chuck directly.

Becky's grin yanked on the release cord and it inflated into the vastest mushroom-canopy of joy it could physically manage. She pressed her palms together, trying not to make any kettle-whistles. "He could have it ready in a few days," she said excitedly.

"What?" Chuck blurted.

"I'll help you with it," she winked, putting her hands round his arm and squeezing. "It'll be fine, Chuck."

"If you say so," the man managed, glimpsing Sam's glower from higher up and deciding not to look up after all.

"Martin?" Katie said without looking away from the pulp writer, "get this man an iPad."

"We're not supposed to use them yet--"

"Well he'll need something to work on that also does mood music to write to, and he's hardly going to tell everyone he's got it when he's under contract to the studio," she allowed, tilting her head at Chuck. "The great prophet Steve Jobs can't keep all the toys to himself, now can he?"

"He is a prophet too? Then this iPad must be a tool of the Lord," Castiel nodded seriously.

The room turned to stare at him with varying degrees of bemusement.

"Some jokes get lost in translation, I guess," Sam said innocently. The spell on the room was summarily broken. "Hey, uhm, do you have like a room in this building where I could discuss this with my cousin? Where no-one else would be able to hear us?" he continued with his most innocent head-tilt.

Katie thought about it. "There is a room, yes. It's my private retreat," she admitted guiltily.

"All the times I can't find you, that's where you are?" Martin asked suddenly from behind her.

"Maybe," she allowed gingerly. "I used to sneak down there to have a secret cigarette, as the place is airtight. Now I don't smoke, it's just this little happy place away from the crazies who work in this office," she added quietly.

Sam grinned. "Perfect," he said. "Oh, uhm, do you think Martin could show me down there?"

"I could do that," she smiled.

Sam wavered for a long moment. And then another one. Then he tightened his slack face and shrugged. "Oh, well, I just have a few things to ask Martin about, too. May as well do both at once, right?"

Katie gave a small smile. "The store room - the one past Dead Filing," she said, nodding to Martin.

He sighed. "Yeah. Come on then, down to Miss Frye's private refuge," he allowed, already turning away.

Sam nodded to Katie before catching Chuck's eye. Then Sam's eyebrows twitched in annoyance before he turned and followed Martin to the door.

It swung open just as they reached it and Dean appeared, his duffle over his shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked, finding Sam and Martin apparently eager to get out of the room.

"Martin knows of a private, sealed room where we three can talk," Sam said politely.

Dean nodded instantly. "Sounds good. I got that stuff I wanted," he added, shrugging the shoulder that currently sported the duffle.

"Super. Let's go," Sam nodded.

The three of them left the room. Quiet descended while Katie looked up at Castiel. She met his fearless stare with curiosity, and for the longest time the angel was in danger of losing a blinking contest. At last Katie smiled and looked away to the window. Castiel's head tilted as something went through it at high speed. Then he crossed the room and stopped by the pane of glass, looking out.

Katie folded her arms slowly, appraising him. She got up and walked over, standing what would have been uncomfortably close to him, had he had any comprehension of personal space.

"You're not really Swiss, are you?" she asked quietly. "Everyone speaks like four languages over there - and they do it without an American accent, Clarence."

Castiel turned his gaze away from the window and again she was caught in the direct stare of eternity.

"You are not really a 'Miss'."

She opened her mouth but froze, watching him in surprise. She recovered her composure. "Actually, I am again now. The divorce went through a few weeks ago. How did you know?"

"I can see it."

"Right," she managed, looking to the window quickly.

"You were not at fault. He was. And you should know, he is not coping well with his new lifestyle," Castiel added quietly. "I believe you may be gratified to know this."

"Who _are_ you?" she dared curiously. "I mean, really?"

Castiel's face, while not exactly smiling, positively hummed with satisfaction. "I am someone who appreciates Chuck's work."

She grinned suddenly, shaking her head and letting it all go over her head. "So how many of the books have you--"

Castiel stiffened with an abruptness that stopped her short and attracted Becky's attention. The angel's head snapped round to see the door. He put his hand to Katie's elbow, easing her out of his way. He began to walk very quickly across the carpet.

"Does he do this a lot?" Katie asked Chuck, prepared to be bemused.

"No. Normally he just pops in and out," Chuck heaved, watching the angel leave the room. "God, I hope he's just looking for the washroom."

Castiel broke into a run as the door closed behind him. He pounded down the corridor toward the door to the stairs. He paused at the exit, looking up and down the thoroughfare. He pushed through the door and stopped. There was a flurry of invisible wings and he was gone.

.

* * *

.

The rather bland looking door at the end of the corridor stood and watched the dust settle on the floor before it. Just as it was contemplating how many flakes would accumulate before the cleaners arrived for the evening, it heard the familiar sounds of footwear on the carpet. A moment later a tall, wide gentlemen of the mousy blond persuasion was attempting to turn its doorknob.

"Wait," Martin said, sinking his hand into his pocket and drawing out a key fob. "It'll be locked."

Dean stepped back from the door and waved Martin toward it. He pushed the key into the lock just as he heard what sounded like a large comfortable blanket being unfurled with a snap not far behind him.

"He is here!" Castiel said urgently.

Martin jumped, not realising the raincoat fanatic had been with them as they had approached the door. The fact that he hadn't heard his feet arrive was relegated to the bottom of his priorities list as he instead turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

"Who's here?" he asked innocently, even as he put his hand up for the light switch.

Dean bundled him in and Martin found himself in the twenty foot square room with three tall men, each of them turning on the door and shoving it closed.

"Do you have oil?" Castiel asked quickly, leaning his palms on the door.

"Woah, wait a minute guys," Martin said quickly. Sam looked at him, confused. "I'm not into any of these downstairs parties if there aren't any girls involved--"

"Radar, can it," Dean interrupted. "It's not what you think." He was already pulling a small plastic jug from his duffle, turning toward Castiel. "Cas, get it ready," he instructed.

Castiel took the oil as Sam grasped Martin's elbow, drawing him to the back of the small room.

"Martin, whatever happens next, you have to believe we're here to protect you," Sam said urgently.

"What? Protect me? F-from wh-what?" he stammered, dodging to one side to see Castiel pouring oil on the floor in a large circle. He looked to Dean, finding him shaking a spray can and getting to work on the inside of the door. "What are they doing?" he added fearfully.

"Protecting this room," Sam said quickly.

Something huge slammed into the other side of the door. Sam and Martin jumped in surprise.

Dean did not even blink, instead carrying on his apparently haphazard spraying slightly faster. "You done with the oil, Cas?" he chivvied darkly, watching his hand work.

"Done," the angel said, standing back. "Once you light this, I may also be trapped inside."

"Damn," Dean hissed through clenched teeth. "Forgot about that."

Another huge attack walloped into the door. It bounced in the frame and there was a slight sound of cracking.

Martin jumped and stepped back quickly. "What the hell was that!"

"Martin, stay behind me," Sam said quickly, putting his hand to the back of his jeans. He pulled out a large, heavy-looking handgun.

Martin eyed it with alarm. "What the hell--"

"Radar! Just shut your piehole and do whatever we tell you to," Dean snapped, finishing the design in red paint and standing back one.

Sam looked back at the shorter man currently doing his best not to cower behind him. "Martin, listen. You know the people who have died here?"

"Y-yeah--"

"Well they're on a list - a lit of powerful people. And you're the next one on that list. You have to trust us to protect you."

Another slam of something heavy and/or angry as all Hell hitting the door and Martin was starting to shake. "From what? Some psycho with a machete?!" he shot back, his face a picture of panic.

"Hey - there's one of him and four of us," Dean pointed out quickly.

"And we have more than machetes," Sam added meaningfully, turning back to the door.

Another few strikes and the wood was starting to splinter. Dean slung the paint can into the corner of the room. He snatched something from his coat pocket. The light in the ceiling revealed it to be a handgun with pearl plating, and Martin swallowed hard as Dean checked it over before pushing the safety off. He paused, slid his eyes to the left to find Martin staring at him in horror, and smiled slightly.

"Don't worry, I have a license for this," Dean assured him. "Well, someone does, anyway."

The door took a heavy pounding before Castiel turned and put his hand out at Dean. He simply blinked at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Lighter," Castiel ordered.

Dean delved into his pocket before thrusting the small Zippo affair at him. Castiel took it and his hand disappeared into the folds of his raincoat.

The door burst inwards. A small man, his suit a little rumpled but not seriously harmed, stood staring at them.

"Hand over the demon," he demanded.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance. "What demon?" they asked in perfect accord. Sam's eyebrows vaulted upwards in summary judgement of the brothers' identical performance until his fringe slapped them for not paying attention to the bigger picture.

The man raised a hand, pointing between human and angel. He waved the finger attached and Sam felt himself nudged to one side. He took a step to avoid falling over.

"Him," the man informed the room at large, his finger clearly and definitely bridging the gap between the mystery and the answer.

That looked an awful lot like Martin Fox.

.

.

* * *

_**Dun dun duuuuun! Thanks for reading so far, folks!**_


	9. The Prisoner

**NINE**

**The Prisoner**

.

"What?" Martin managed. "Demon wh-what?"

Before anyone could move Ramiel was pushing into the room. Dean made a grab for his arm. The angel in the little man simply put out an elbow. His forearm drove into Dean's chest. He flew backward and into the wall so hard paint flaked off from the impact of his head.

Sam shifted in front of Martin. He drew himself up in the small room. Ramiel put his hands out to grab for him.

An almighty _whoomf_ sound drowned out his next thought for defending himself. Heat and light registered and Sam turned. He snatched at Martin and shoved them both away from the flames. Martin bounced into the wall, knocking his glasses free. He didn't even bother trying to retrieve them. He turned and plastered himself against the wall as best he could to be further from the flames apparently burning in a three-foot high wall.

In the middle of the raging circle were two men. Sam took this in even as he scrambled round the fire and found his brother insensate, face-down on the floor. He crouched and put his hand out to the inert lump that was Dean, checking his pulse before straightening slowly.

"I warned you," Ramiel was seething at Castiel, barely a foot from the angel.

"And we," Castiel said with holy wrath, "warned _you_."

He grasped Ramiel's arm and yanked. The man was jerked toward the flames. His hand dragged through it and he cried out, snatching it free.

"You cannot harm me!" he bellowed, outraged.

Castiel was already catching at his other arm. He rammed it up across his back, his other hand on the back of his collar. He wrenched him forwards, his face close to the flames.

"You know we can," Sam countered, walking around the flames again. He put a hand on Martin's shoulder. The man just nodded desperately. Sam bent to Dean's duffle, still on the floor, before getting to his feet again. He turned and looked at the two angels in the holy fire. "So tell us why you think Martin is a demon."

"D-demon?" Martin spluttered.

"I can see it. I can smell it," the captured angel accused, his eyes glaring at the network man as if he could cause him to combust from there.

"I cannot," Castiel observed, keeping a tight hold on the angel in his grasp.

"Easily checked," Sam said, unscrewing the lid on the hidden flask in his hand. He splashed water over Martin's face.

The man jerked and gasped, freezing to work out what had just happened. As Sam and Castiel exchanged a look that explained all of their observations in a nanosecond, Martin put his hands up to wipe his face dryer than it was.

"Why?" he asked, more resigned than anything else.

"Holy water," Sam said apologetically, stepping round him and crouching next to his fallen brother.

"Why?" Martin repeated, in exactly the same tone of voice as before.

"To show you're not a demon," Sam said, splashing his brother's face with the same blessed liquid.

Dean jerked and blinked, finding his right cheek on the testicle-shrinkingly cold floor of a twenty by twenty foot storeroom. He put his hands under himself quickly. "What happened?" he rattled off as he pushed himself to sit back on his heels. He made a face of which a tortured mime artist would be proud, putting a hand to the back of his head. He hissed suddenly. "Son of a bitch," he cursed, bringing his hand away to find it wet and spotted with dark red.

"Cas has Ramiel trapped," Sam advised. "Martin doesn't respond to holy water."

"Groovy," Dean grunted. Sam put his palm out and Dean took it, hauling himself to his feet. He slapped his free hand into Sam's back in thanks and let his palm go, turning on Martin. "_Christo_," he said clearly.

"N-no, M-Martin," he managed, his chin still dripping slightly.

Dean looked at his brother. "Ok, Ninja Angel is off his meds and we got him. Cas, dump his sorry ass in the fire," Dean ordered.

"Wait!" Sam barked, his hands up. He approached the flames, looking the man over. "This guy isn't a demon. Why do you think he is?"

"I can see it!" Ramiel raged, struggling against Castiel's hold. The taller angel pushed on the arm and the captured angel paused in pain but refused to cry out. "Castiel - look at his face! Look at his soul! He is a demon!"

Castiel's head turned. His gaze leapt the flaming wall and bored into Martin without mercy. It was silent and very still for nearly a minute. Martin could not bring himself to breathe.

"He is not a demon," Castiel observed.

Martin spat out a breath in relief.

"You can't see it! Because you are cut off, Castiel! You cannot smite me, and we both know it!" Ramiel accused. "If you were pure, if you were still truly one of us, you would be able to see still!"

"Hey," Dean interrupted, sticking his hand in the flames. Sam put a hand up to his arm but Dean shook him off. Sam watched his brother's arm as his hand sailed through the fire and grasped at the trapped angel's hair. He yanked on it, pulling the angel's head round so Dean could meet his eyes from across the flames. "Hey, Stimpy. Just cos you're still in the Cloud City country club don't mean you can take pot shots at the renegades, you get me?" he snapped.

Sam watched, amazed at how Dean's arm was completely failing to burn or even smoulder in the holy flames. _Does it only burn angels? Or is he immune cos of what Michael wants him for?_ He heard Martin gasp and shuffle behind them and cast him a glance.

"Woah - stop. Stay there," Sam commanded, and Martin stopped. He pushed himself back against the wall and gave a barely perceptible nod. Sam looked back round at the angel in both Castiel and Dean's grasp. "What do you mean, Cas isn't pure?" he demanded.

"He left! He has forsaken his own kind and now he is cut off from Heaven! Ask him why he cannot smite demons any more!" Ramiel spluttered.

Dean's angry eyebrows of condemnation lifted slowly. He tilted his head up to the side to flick his eyes at Castiel. "Is this true?"

"I am cut off. I cannot smite demons," he confirmed.

"But you can still see 'em, right?" Dean asked carefully.

"I can. And Martin is not a demon. You know this to be true - you have tested him yourself," Castiel replied, forcing patience where there was frustration.

Dean looked back down at the man in his grip. He thought for a long moment. Then his head dropped in a way Sam knew to be indicative of some nasty realisation sneaking up on his elder brother. Dean's gaze latched back onto the angel caught in his hand.

"Look at me," Dean growled. The angel kept his gaze to one side. "I said look at me!"

The man's eyes rolled up to Dean's face.

"Take a good, _long_ look. Am I a demon?" Dean asked dangerously.

"It does not matter what I say, you will not--"

"Answer the damn question!" Dean roared.

The angel blinked angry eyes at him before shifting his head round. Dean let go of his hair and the man stared at him. Not for the first time, Dean suspected an angel could see into his very soul.

"You too!" the angel whispered in horror. "Castiel - you are siding with demons!"

Dean took a step back, then pocketed his Colt slowly. Sam appeared next to him, his mouth starting to open. Dean put his hand up wearily. "Don't," he said quietly, looking at the empty floor off to his right. "Don't."

Sam looked at his brother and was instantly worried as to why he was keeping his face averted.

Castiel peered through the flames at Dean. Dean's eyes came up and they appeared to share a strange look. Dean turned away, taking Sam's elbow and walking him to the far corner.

"What?" Sam asked quickly, alarmed.

"Sam," Dean breathed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, "this guy's not himself."

"Hyah!" Sam spluttered in confirmation, amazement at his brother's apparently assinine comment making his eyes spin like pinballs.

"No, I mean…" Dean let his head sway to one side in discomfort, Sam noticed.

"What? What do you mean?" he hissed.

"I mean the angel in there. He's totally bent out of shape. He's got like some kind of post traumatic fighting-apocalypse-demon-army syndrome going on," he hissed back.

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, confused. He watched his brother avoid his gaze.

"Maybe… I have an uncomfortable familiarity with the signs," he admitted grumpily.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He took a breath, steeled himself, and then looked back at his brother. "So why's he seeing demons everywhere?"

"I don't know - he's been doing it so long he thinks _everyone_ is a friggin' demon?"

Sam's head snapped up and he looked across the room to the two angels still caged within the ring of fire. "So… there's no demon here?" he hazarded.

"I don't think there ever _was_," Dean breathed. "This dude rolls up here and _thinks_ he sees demons. He starts killin' them off only to find more."

"Then why is it the important people he sees as demons?" Sam wondered as quietly as possible. "Why not the cleaning staff, the coffee makers?"

"It's a power thing, right? What demon's gonna possess the sandwich guy? Of course he thinks they're going for the heads of department. Think about it," Dean whispered. "We thought the exact same thing when we arrived - we thought demons were targeting Chuck for his gospel. This guy did too - cos he thought he actually _saw_ demons."

"Maybe he only saw them cos he expected to?" Sam nodded.

"Exactly. Which kind of puts us in an awkward position," Dean allowed. He looked back at the angels for a moment before wiping a weary hand over his forehead.

"We got to let him go," Sam urged. "He needs help."

"We can't! How many more non-demons will he kill? _And_ he'll come after us and Cas!" Dean hissed.

"We can't kill him."

"We're gonna have to."

"No, Dean, I mean we physically can't kill him - and that's a real, innocent person he's possessing."

Dean huffed to himself, his head tilting to the side as his eyes ran up to the ceiling. He looked over at Martin for a moment, then back at the circle of fire. "Hey, Cas," he called.

"He is still secure," the angel confirmed.

"Great. What do you do with shellshocked angels?" he asked.

"I do not understand."

Dean crossed the room again, ignoring the slightly struggling man to meet Castiel's eyes. "If one of your garrison goes Looney Tunes, all buckets of crazy cos they've been out in the war too long - what do you do with them?"

Castiel's head tilted and he appeared to search his memory for a long time. He looked back at Dean slowly. "I do not know. We have never had an angel 'go Looney Tunes'," he replied, confused.

Dean sniffed to himself but Sam approached quickly. "Wait, can't you just send him home to be mind-cleansed?" he asked. "They tried to do it to you, right?"

Castiel looked to one side quickly. "They did." He transferred his gaze to the man in his charge. "It could work."

"It _will_ work," Dean nodded. Castiel looked at him. "Hey, if the mind-wiping takes, he'll be back in the garrison, right? If it don't, he'll still be back up there and not down here ganking innocent people he thinks are demons. It's win-win as far as I see it."

"You are all demon stains!" Ramiel shouted suddenly. "Don't think I can't see you for what you are!"

Dean looked at him - just looked. Then he swung his head back up to Castiel. "Sound like a plan?"

Castiel sighed, and it appeared for all the world as if he were trying not to let his shoulders sag. "It does," he acceded. "There is only one problem."

"What?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Sending him back," he relied. "We would need to hold him while I use an Enochian summoning ritual. He must not escape while the sentries come to escort him home."

"Fine. You tell us what we need to do, and we'll do it. You keep him inside there," Dean nodded.

"Wait," Sam said quickly. "If Cas is with him when they come for him, won't they try to smite him for rebelling?"

Dean put a hand up, rubbing at the wet area still stinging at the back of his head. "Well crap, Sam. I got nothing."

Martin put a hand up slowly. "Uhm, guys?" he dared.

"We could… get Cas out, leave the guy there?" Sam offered.

"How? One of us would have to change places with him - and that means at least a couple of sentry angels could tell Michael where we are," Dean challenged.

"Guys?" Martin asked again.

Sam huffed. "Well we could just leave him in the circle of fire and wait for Cas to get out of here. We summon the dudes and--"

"I need to do the ritual," Castiel interrupted. "It is… complicated."

"You sayin' I can't read now?" Dean demanded with indignation.

"Enochian? _Yes_," Castiel said deliberately.

"Guys!" Martin cried desperately.

"What!" Dean called back, annoyed.

"Is that real fire? Cos it's kinda right under the fire suppression system."

Sam and Dean looked at the flames, then up at the tiny sprinkler in the ceiling.

"Sprinklers," they said at each other, ideas dawning.

"Uhm… Are you sure you're not Sam and Dean?" Martin dared. "Only, they do that a lot in the early books."

The Winchesters shared a look. They turned and faced Martin. "No," they chorused.

"Damn. I was kind of hoping you were."

"Why?" Castiel asked, apparently more curious than he was interested in the struggling angel in his grip.

"Well… for one, even though the books are crap, I still kinda… Well, I like the The Boys," Martin admitted quietly, missing Castiel's expression of vindication and perhaps amusement. "And two, I can't believe someone like Chuck could make stuff up like that."

"Who, Chuck? He's that much of a piss-poor writer he couldn't even get a letter into Penthouse for--" Dean stopped short. He gasped, snapping his fingers as he turned to look at Sam.

Sam's face brightened all over in abrupt inspiration and he turned on his brother. "Chuck?"

"Chuck," Dean nodded.

"Chuck?" Castiel wondered.

"Chuck!" the boys cried.

.

.


	10. Highway To Heaven

**TEN**

**Highway To Heaven**

.

Dean barrelled into the staff room door, sending it flying. Chuck and Becky gasped in surprise. Katie and the others stared. Dean crossed the room to a chair. He ignored everyone to grab the backrest and pull it across the floor, standing it on the carpet and climbing up on it. He searched his person for something, his hands running over every pocket in every piece of clothing he wore.

"Harry?" Katie asked, unsure.

"Damn it!" He looked over at her. "Anyone got a lighter?"

The room exchanged worried glances before Katie went to the cupboards behind her. She opened one and fished around, finding a small lighter and carrying it over.

"Don't look at me like that," she said nervously. "I quit smoking a year ago. I just forgot to remove all the stashed equipment."

Dean grinned, crouching on the chair to take it from her. "Thanks," he nodded. He straightened up again, flicking the lighter on. He stretched upwards toward the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" she asked, backing up a step.

Dean's hand and the naked flame went toward the small round item embedded in the ceiling just as the door wanged open again. Sam appeared with a very white Martin, the taller Winchester shepherding him through the door.

"Cas ready to fly the coop as soon as they're both free?" Dean asked.

"He knows what to do," Sam nodded.

Dean's hand waved slightly. The flame spread over the nub and suddenly a piercing shriek rang out.

"Oh no - no!" Katie cried, raising her hands over her head. The next moment sprinkler systems kicked in and the fire suppression system caused the Heavens to open. Water sprayed down around the room.

Chuck and Becky jumped to their feet, Chuck trying to cover her head with some of his jacket. She squealed and tucked under his arm. Sam kept a good hold on Martin's shoulder as he watched Dean jump down from the chair. He kicked it aside and looked around.

"Right, everyone out!" he shouted.

People did not need telling twice. They ran from the room, hands over their heads.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Katie shouted in anger. "You already got the part, dumbass!"

Dean ignored her. "Chuck! Chuck, get your sorry ass over here!"

"Wha--?"

"_Now!_" Dean raged.

Becky grabbed onto him more tightly as he shuffled across the room, the picture of nervousness. "What now?" he managed.

"Any minute now an angel is gonna come through that door!" Dean called through the pattering of cold water. "When he does, you make damn sure he sees you!"

"How?" he cried nervously.

"I don't care! Call him names, offend his delicate sensibilities! Anything!"

"Alright! Just don't shout at me!"

Dean grabbed the jacket over his shoulder, wrenching him away from Becky. "Hey!" she protested angrily.

"Sweetheart, get over there," Dean growled, giving her a shove. She felt a hand on her arm and Katie was pulling at her.

"These people are nuts!" she hissed. "Let's run while we can!"

"Not without Chuck!" Becky cried, but Katie pulled and she ended up with her in the far corner of the room.

Suddenly the door flew inwards, blown clear of the jamb. Everyone ducked in fright and surprise. A man barged in, his hair plastered to his head in sopping wet patterns.

"Ha! Divine intervention put your little fire out!" he spat at Dean.

Dean's dripping arm raised the lighter innocently. "God is in the lighter fluid?"

The angel Ramiel growled and drew in a deep breath.

"Hey! Uhm, angel!" Chuck called.

The man's head whipped around. "You!" he gasped, surprised. "You are safe?"

"I am," Chuck swallowed. "So far--"

"Look again, pal!" Dean shouted, making Ramiel turn on him. "Look at Chuck real careful - is it really him? Or is he _a demon _now?"

The angel advanced on the writer, grasping his shoulders. He stared. "No!" he pronounced, gripping him more painfully. "How did they get to you! The demons must be stopped! They will not have the Winchester gospel!"

The angel's eyes began to glow and he put a hand up toward Chuck's forehead. The room began to shake slightly. Cups tinkled and doughnuts wobbled. Dean gestured at Sam. He dragged Martin with him toward the doors.

"Incoming! We gotta get out!" Dean called over the growing thrumming noise. "Get the girls!"

The Winchesters turned and ran for the two women. They pulled on limbs and simply ran as fast as their legs would carry them, Martin already out of the door. They pounded down to the stairwell.

"You think it's Raphael?" Sam panted as he herded Katie down in front of him.

"Who cares?" Dean snapped. "Just go!" He put an arm round Becky's waist in front of him and lifted. She squeaked as she was thrown over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Dean started to jump two or even three steps at a time with the bannister for support, Becky screaming the entire way.

By the time they had reached the ground floor, she had passed out.

.

* * *

.

Dean hefted the unconscious girl onto the boot of the Impala. He held her up with one arm, fishing in his pocket for the car keys with the other. Sam pulled Katie after him by the hand, keeping a watchful eye on Martin. He appeared rather quite dazed by it all, as if Saturday had just followed Wednesday due to Thursday and Friday filing vacation forms without his knowledge.

Everyone but Becky turned to look at the office building behind them. All was silent.

"Are you sure an archangel was coming?" Sam asked quietly.

"Shut up," Dean groused. "He was on his way, alright."

Sam bit his lip nervously. "Uhm… For the record, I can't believe we just left Chuck there."

"Oh come on, it's an amazing plan," Dean shot back. "Cas is out of here, the archangel's either gonna wipe Ninja Angel out or simply take him home, Chuck will be fine, and all this will be set straight."

"Hmm," Sam mused, still staring at the eleventh floor of the building. "Still no archangel light, dude."

"Maybe he's not smiting him."

"No activity at all."

"And?" Dean challenged. "Did you have a better idea?"

Sam huffed the great snort of the unjust. He felt Katie's fingers tighten round his hand and looked down at her.

"Luke?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Are you high? Because, if you are, I just want to--"

"No, I am not high," Sam sighed.

"For once," Dean muttered, apparently to himself.

"Hey," Sam snapped in protest. Dean glanced at him before doing a double-take and shrugging it off.

Katie cleared her throat. "Cos I was going to say, if you are, then--"

"I'm not!"

"But if you were, I really wouldn't care." She blew out a long sigh. "This has been the craziest week."

"Tell me about it," Sam mused, his eyes back on the building.

There was a sudden blinding flash. Everyone jumped and blinked. Dean's phone began to ring and he held onto Becky while searching for it. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Yeah'ello?" He nodded in relief and looked at Sam. "He got him. Everything's clear? Right. And the vessel dude, is he ok? What about Chuck?" He paused to listen as a police siren wailed past in the distance. "That is all we need to know. Good work, Clarence. Gotta go, I hear a bell ringing." He pushed the phone closed against his jacket front as he beamed at Sam. "Clarence says Ramiel's gone. Clarence is up there with Chuck right now - they're both safe, everything's fixed."

"Great," Sam sighed, nodding in relief. He looked at Martin. "Hey. You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah," Martin managed. "I think." He turned and began to walk back to the building, his face a picture of confusion.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "You think you can get Becky back up there?" he asked.

"Easy," Dean said, reaching over and slapping lightly at the girl's face.

"Dude!" Sam protested.

Dean simply held onto the girl to stop her from sliding off the polished metal boot. She grabbed onto the hand and arm round her side, looking around wildly.

"Oh! It's you!" she gulped. "I didn't know where I was for a second there!"

"You ok?" Dean asked, leaning closer to peer at her pale face.

She looked at him. "Yeah of course I am, I'm--… _fine_," she managed, staring back into his eyes and showing disturbing signs of melting. "Hmm… The… freckles… The _eyelashes_…"

"Right, well, let's get you--"

"Suddenly I feel a little faint," she feathered.

Katie tutted and rolled her eyes, pulling on Sam's hand to walk them back toward the offices. Becky clutched at Dean's arm as he guided her off the car and to her feet. She gasped and wobbled and he caught her before her knees discovered the pioneering way how far it was to the asphalt. She gripped his upper arms through his jacket, smiling.

"Ooh, thanks," she grinned, lifting one hand to wave it at her face. "I don't know why I just passed out like that."

"It was probably something to do with - uhm - air," Dean nodded uncomfortably. He moved to let go of her but she clamped her hand round his right arm.

"Don't let me fall," she squeaked. She leaned on him as they began to walk across the car park, her hands securely round his upper arm with more staying power than Superglue. "Ooooooh," she breathed to herself.

"What?" he asked, worry more than just a fleeting thought.

"You're so _hard_," she managed, her voice only just managing to break a whisper.

"Oh _God_," Dean groaned with feeling, walking them faster.

.

* * *

.

"Don't worry," Chuck said, wringing his hands at the two Winchesters, "there is no way in Hell I'm publishing any more after this giant near-pooch-screwing."

"We're glad to hear it," Dean nodded. He cast a sly glance at his brother, twenty feet away. Sam was putting his hands to Katie's face gently as she laid her hands on his front. Dean looked back at Chuck. "And the sooner you kill this TV project the better. We still got guns."

"Oh, I hear ya," Chuck said quickly. "And I think this network is going to have a few problems for a while. Martin quit," he nodded.

"Fantastic," Dean grinned. "That'll definitely send this pilot of theirs down the pan."

"Won't it," Chuck sighed. Dean's head tilted and he cleared his throat. Chuck looked up at him. "I mean, yeah, great, I'm so glad it will," he nodded quickly.

Dean put his hand to his shoulder and patted. "Well I would say look out for yourself, but seeing as you got an archangel on your shoulder, I don't think I'll bother," he smirked. "But keep Becky out of trouble."

"I'll try," he said, tipping two fingers to his forehead before sidling off. He walked quickly and quietly to the girl watching shyly from Chuck's car bonnet. Dean's gaze followed the writer until Becky appeared in his line of sight. She blushed and lifted a hand, rippling her fingers at him.

Dean blinked, bemused, but waved back cheerfully before the two of them ducked into Chuck's car.

"There you are," said a voice, and he turned to see Martin coming at him.

"Hey. I hear you quit," Dean smiled.

"You hear a lot of things," Martin smiled back. "You know, I've been thinking…"

"You don't want to go doing that," Dean said dismissively.

"And I've been thinking that maybe Luke and you really are Sam and Dean after all," he added slyly.

"And how would you prove something like that?" Dean asked suavely, his most charming smile spreading over his face like oil on water.

"And _that_," Martin grinned, pointing at his face, "_that_ is the shit-eating grin from page three hundred seventy-nine," he chuckled.

Dean laughed, he couldn't help it. "Whatever," he allowed. "If you get wherever you're going and you're stumped for a six-pack, let me know. I could find something."

"Thanks, man," Martin said, his smile shrinking to a look of honest surprise. "I guess you have less friends than even I do to put yourself out like that."

"Occupational hazard," Dean shrugged.

"Because you two _are_ Sam and Dean!" Martin accused, pointing at him again. "And I'll prove it - I'll call Sam's number and Luke's phone will ring - you watch me!"

"Knock yourself out, man," Dean allowed, waving a hand beyond him in the general direction of Sam.

Martin pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and pressed buttons quickly. He and Dean turned to watch Sam as they both heard Martin's line open. Sam was lifting his head from Katie's, obviously loathe to let go of her, as she grinned. She leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him briefly, again obviously not for the first time, and he said something that sent her into a fit of chuckles. Suddenly there was a beeping noise and Sam let her go, putting his hand in his pocket.

"See!" Martin crowed victoriously, pointing. "What did I tell you!"

Sam, oblivious to the bet going on, didn't check the screen of his Blackberry before answering it. "Hello?" he asked clearly. "Oh, hey, it's you," he smiled.

Martin's face dropped so fast it was a wonder his muscles didn't suffer whiplash. He pressed the cancel key on his phone, watching Sam talk away at someone.

"Who is it?" Dean called with a truckload of satisfaction. But the passenger seat of the truck held a tiny bag of sympathy for Martin, who was still staring with disappointment.

Sam looked up. "It's B--. It's - uhm - ah - Uncle Jim."

"_Your_ Uncle Jim?" Martin replied. "Oh, you mean Harry's dad?"

The two Winchesters looked at each other for a long moment, not knowing whether to die of embarrassment or laugh.

"Y-yeah," Sam managed. "Hey, Harry, say hi to your _dad_," he grinned maliciously. He walked over, Katie's hand in his still, as he passed the cell phone to Dean.

"Yeah, hi, uhm, Dad," Dean havered. "Oh, nothing, we're good," he said. "Yeah, my _idiot cousin_ is just setting himself up for a good old-fashioned ass-whu--. What? No! Would I?" he spluttered in apparent indignation. "Yeah, ok. Well we'll just tidy a few things up here and we'll be on the way down to you. You need anything?" He paused, eyeing Sam before putting his attention back to the phone. "Ok. You'll have it tomorrow. Bye _Dad_," Dean nodded, pulling the phone clear. He pressed the red button and handed the phone back to his brother. "Dad says you gotta watch your mouth," he grinned maliciously.

"That's Uncle Jim, cuddly as ever," Sam replied politely, his mouth stretched wide into an unctuous smile.

"Well anyway, guys - thanks for everything. I think," Martin said. "I'm going to move to Kansas where people don't believe in angels and demons," he sighed.

"Good luck with that," Dean smiled. "Give us a call if you need something."

"Thanks," Martin managed. He patted Dean on the arm before nodding to Katie and Sam. "Bye, Miss Frye."

"Bye, Martin. Thank you. For _everything_. Life won't be the same without you keeping it order," she smiled warmly.

"Thanks." He simply walked around them and across the parking lot.

"Man," Dean breathed at Sam, "am I glad we've changed phones like sixty times in the last few months."

"Time for me to go too," Katie said. "Harry? A pleasure," she nodded. She stretched her hand out and he shook it firmly. "And you," she said to Sam, pressing her hand against the front of his shirt, "seriously have to call me so we can get together this weekend."

"You know, we should definitely do that," he grinned. "But won't you be too busy now you're like higher up the food chain?"

"Oh no," she said, "Fox are plunging into hard times. I'm moving networks," she added. They ambled after her as she turned to her car.

"Well it's a real shame they wouldn't go for your show," Dean shrugged. "It sounded… kinda cool."

Sam shot him a glance but he ignored him. Katie grinned as she unlocked the door and got into her car.

"Oh, don't be," she said. "I just got a call from this guy… what was his name… Crabtree? Cripptree? Something like that. Anyway, he's invited me over to Warner Brothers, and he's hot for the show after all."

"What?" the boys blurted together.

"You're cute when you do that," she winked, pulling her door closed.

"I thought it was all off? I thought Chuck had left the building and you had no actors?" Dean cried, confused.

"Well he did and we didn't… but then Becky called to say she's got this wonderful idea, and she's already lined up two guys for the leads."

"What?" the boys blurted a second time.

"Oh yeah - she says the little guy from _Dark Angel_? He's all grown up in a good way and apparently, he could be exactly what we're looking for. And we have a guy from _Gilmore Girls_ to be the emo brother. It's all falling into place!"

Sam.

Dean.

Sam and Dean.

Car park.

Breeze.

Imaginary tumbleweeds.

They were sucked into the largest, most incomprehensible whirlwind of absolute shock, up against the tallest, most insurmountable fence of incredulity they had ever encountered.

They were still standing with their mouths hanging open as she waved at them, turning the engine over before driving off.

Eventually, Sam turned to look at Dean. His eyes darted over his shoulder. "Uh, hey Cas," he managed.

"Sam. You are intact," the angel acknowledged.

"Kinda," he offered, his voice high and on the verge of breaking under the load.

"What has happened here?" Castiel asked quickly, walking round Dean to look at his face and finding it similarly tasked with looking troubled in as confused a way as possible.

"We're not quite sure," Dean admitted, blinking at his sibling. "Did she just--?"

"Yeah."

"Is she going to--?"

"Yeah."

"Crap!"

"Crap."

"Drink?" Castiel offered.

The Winchesters turned and looked at him as if he were wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt in existence.

"What?" Dean asked in befuddlement, his eyebrows adjusting themselves into a low huddle whose fortitude would have rivalled the All Blacks haka ritual.

"In situations such as these, you normally resort to alcohol. So we should find some alcohol," Castiel said seriously.

"Amen to _that_," Dean nodded. He walked toward him, patting him heavily on the shoulder and turning him round.

Sam took a deep breath, straightened up, and felt for the Blackberry in his pocket. He smiled as his fingers connected with it, thoughts turning to the new number safely stored within.

Then he followed the angel and his brother to the Impala.

With perhaps just the smallest spring in his step.

.

**FIN**

**.**

**

* * *

  
**

And that's a wrap, folks! Hope you liked it, cos I really enjoyed seeing your reactions to it and I have to say, I had a whale of a time writing it.

**Full reference list follows:**

Katie Frye, named for Kayleigh Frye of _Firefly_ fame.

'Tell Alan he's fired' - Alan Sugar of _The Apprentice_.

'Get Sera to get a think-tank and episode thrashing crew ready'- Sera Gamble, of course.

'We were on a break' says Dean - á la Friends.

Raelle and Cathryn are of course named after Raelle Tucker and Cathryn Humphries.

Harrison - after the family name the Winchesters were originally to have in the pilot script - and Luke and 'Han'/Harry - Star Wars' Luke Skywalker and Han Solo.

Bob Pattinson - A.K.A. Robert Pattinson from the 'Twilight' saga.

Clarence - the angel from _It's A Wonderful Life_, obviously!

_Novels Without Pity_ - taken from 'TV Without Pity', _Supernatural Bookcase_ - taken from , _SPN-Obsessed_ - taken from the ning site of the same name, and of course _SupernaturalVille: The Vaults_.Had to be done. :)

Captain Manners - named for the irreplaceable Kim Manners.

Traci, Amy's assistant (named once), named after Traci Dinwiddie.

Dean refers to Martin as 'Radar' - the faithful magic-man from M*A*S*H*.

Phil the tour guide, named after Phil Sgriccia.

Fox 'hating' Nathan Fillion: is trufax!

Mr Beeson who works on the 14th floor: Charles Beeson.

The two men who die before the boys arrive, 'Charles' and 'Eric', are named for Charles Beeson and Eric Kripke (of course!).

Steve Jobs and the iPad being a tool of the Lord gag - shout-out to Tiny_Winchester from Twitter. See? I promised it would be in there!

Luke's 'Uncle Jim' is of course named for Jim Beaver!

'The little guy from _Dark Angel_' who will play Dean? Jensen Ackles.

'A guy from _Gilmore Girls_ to play Sam'? Jared Padalecki.

Warner Brothers TV and Mr 'Crabtree' are probably who will decide to make these books into a show after all. **_If we're really lucky!_**

**_._**


End file.
